


Sword & Scale

by Castiel_For_King



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Lore, BAMF Castiel, Castiel's True Form, Dragons, Elder Scrolls Lore, Evolving Tags, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Military related trauma, Military themes, Oblivion Crisis, PTSD Castiel, Sam and Dean wear armor, Soldier Castiel, Team Free Will, Warrior Castiel, eventual destiel, lore heavy, the slowest of slow burns, wing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 77,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_For_King/pseuds/Castiel_For_King
Summary: He pulled a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a rush.  “Ok...so...some old guys onanother planetrang up anAngel of the Lordto find some guy for them?”  Dean summarized.“They did not call me,” Cas said dryly.  “They prayed to me.”“I guess monks living on the side of a mountain on another planet probably don't get very good reception.”  Sam looked dazed.Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes because he honestly felt a little dazed himself.  Anotherplanet.  “Same thing.  They prayed for you to come and help them find some random person?  That just seems way too simple a task to ask an angel for help.  There's gotta be a catch.”Castiel's gaze turned icy, “You once prayed for me to come help you open a pickle jar.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 66
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

Dean drained the last of his coffee, feeling the fuzzy, acidic aftertaste clinging to the back of his tongue, and surreptitiously glanced across the table at his brother. Sam was as he always seemed to be lately: nose deep in an ancient, important-looking tome; one of the many in their vast library that looked like it would crumble to dust if handled too roughly. Those seemed to be Sam's favorites.

He heaved a sigh, looking around the meticulously organized shelves full of books.

Dean hadn't been allowed to be involved in the sorting and categorizing of the books – Sam had forbidden it after he'd gotten bored with alphabetizing and erected a book-fort in the corner, pelting Sam with crumpled paper balls.

Sam spent so much time in the library, and despite what Dean might say about that – _nerd_ – he found himself a little jealous of the fact that Sam had something that never failed to entertain him. There were times when Sam would get up before the sun and stay in the library until well after it had set, leaving the room only to refill his coffee cup. Dean wished he had something like that to occupy him when the boredom got too bad. He could only tune and wax the impala so many times before paint wear become a real possibility and if he made any more dinners to freeze they were going to need to buy a whole new deep freezer just to store them all.

Dean needed to _move_ , needed to be doing something active with his body. Like killing things. He loved killing things. Well, not people, monsters that deserved to die, he loved killing those. The problem was that the monsters seemed to all be taking some kind of synchronized holiday. Everything had been irritatingly calm the last few weeks and Dean was starting to feel like there were ants under his skin.

With another sigh that he knew was too dramatic, he slouched down in the uncomfortable wooden chair until he could lean his head against the back rest and stare up at the fan above him, it's dusty old blades spinning slow and lazy.

“You looking up something for a case?” Dean asked the ceiling dully.

Sam grunted and it may have just been a grunt, but Dean could still tell that Sam hadn't actually heard him and was likely auto-responding in the hopes that he would be left alone. Rolling his head against the back of his chair, Dean stared at his brother.

“Sam.”

Another grunt.

“Sam!” 

“ _What_?” Sam's shaggy head snapped up, a bitchy look already firmly etched into his face.

“What're you reading?” Dean asked.

A long-suffering sigh whooshed out of Sam's broad chest and he held the book up so that Dean could read the title. 

“Notes on the Lunar Forge,” he supplied when Dean leaned forward with a squint.

“Wow,” the elder deadpanned, “Sounds gripping.” He resettled in his chair, picking at the wood with his fingernail. “But maybe we should call Cas and see if he's got anything for us to do.”

Sam blinked, his expression going slack with the abrupt change of subject. “What? Why?”

“Because I'm _bored_ , Sam!” Dean complained as he shoved his chair back from the table and stood. “We haven't had a hunt in weeks, man! _Weeks!_ I'm going stir crazy here! There has _got_ to be some gross monster out there _somewhere_ that needs killing!”

Never before had Dean thought that one day he would grow tired of having a break from the monsters and the killing and the constant, _constant_ fighting. But he'd been clawing his way through battle after battle for most of his life and this sitting _still_ and _relaxing_ thing had turned out to be a lot less awesome than he'd anticipated.

He gave his brother a desperate look, not really caring that it probably made him look childish because whatever was happening with his face seemed to be giving Sam pause for thought, so Dean didn't want to change it.

Finally, his brother closed the book and rubbed at one of his eyes. “It _has_ been kind of quiet lately,” Sam rested an elbow on the armrest of his chair, chin in the palm of his hand and a thoughtful expression on his face. “We're gonna get fat.”

Dean was so elated that Sam had kind of sort of agreed to let him call Cas for some work that he didn't bother commenting on the fat thing, instead he rubbed his hands together, unable to help the grin spreading across his face.

“Yes! Awesome! Cas, you got your ears on, buddy? 'Cause we're bored and dying to kill something!” he blurted to the ceiling.

It was only a few seconds of the brothers casting glances around the room before the familiar sound of ruffling feathers made them both look to the archway that lead into the war room. 

Castiel stood there, as still and permanent looking as ever; like he was a marble statue that hadn't moved from that spot in years. He looked mildly annoyed and took steady steps closer towards Dean.

“Your 'prayers' leave _much_ to be desired,” the angel groused, giving Dean a slanted look, “I can barely hear them.”

“Er, right, sorry about that,” Dean stumbled; even after all these years of doing it, he still felt awkward with a prayer in his mouth. It was like making a phone call without a phone and, like so many other things about Cas, it was weird.

“What do you need?” Castiel asked the brothers, looking from one to the other. 

“We wanna kill something,” Dean replied, a little too eagerly. Now that the prospect of some action was being dangled in front of him, he felt like he was about to burst at the seams if he didn't release some of the pent-up energy soon.

His minor outburst caused Cas' eyebrows to climb towards his hairline, his deep blue eyes focusing on the elder hunter.

“What my brother is _trying_ to say,” Sam drawled, his chin still resting in his hand, “Is that we haven't had a hunt in months and were wondering if maybe you had anything for us to do.” Sam even seemed to be perking up at the prospect of a good hunt, finally pushing away from the table to stand. “A demon to kill, a pesky monster to exterminate, even an item to find. _Anything_ , really,” he added, his brown eyes flicking over to his brother with a touch of irritation.

It made Dean wonder if Sam was looking for a hunt just to get him to shut up. He found he really didn't care either way.

“I'm sorry but I don't know of much that needs doing right n...” Cas trailed off, frowning in a way that told Dean the intricate, complex gears were turning in the angel's head. 

Deep blue eyes flicked between the brothers and a contemplative look smoothed the furrow in his brow.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asked. It was unlike the angel to look at them like that; as if he wanted to tell them something but wasn't sure if he should. 

“Well,” Cas began haltingly. “I have been asked to...help locate a person of interest.”

Dean found himself glancing over at his brother and their eyes met. It was obvious they were thinking the same thing. Tracking someone down wasn't exactly difficult, they'd done it dozens of times before. Why did Cas seem so reluctant to tell them about it? After several moments had passed and Cas said nothing else, Dean folded his arms and leaned his hip against the edge of the table, trying to figure out the best way to coax the information out of his friend. 

“They high profile or something?” he prompted. “We've tracked down tons of people before. Who do you want us to find?” He watched Cas' face closely but all he did was press his full lips together a little more firmly. 

“I don't know their name,” Cas said. “Or what they look like.”

If Dean hadn't been watching so closely, he would have missed the corner of the angel's eye twitch, and it was a strange thing to realize that Cas seemed to both _want_ to tell them and _not_ want to tell them about whatever job he'd been given. He wasn't sure what that meant but before he could say anything, Cas turned away from them. 

“Never mind, it's not the kind of job you're looking for,” Cas told them firmly, as if he'd just decided that for them. 

Dean's stomach lurched when he saw Cas' shoulders shift in a way that was indicative of his imminent departure.

“Wait!” Sam said, rushing over to grab a trench coat clad shoulder. “Wait, Cas, can't you tell us what the job is? Just tell us and then _we'll_ decide if it's what we're looking for or not,” He let his hand slide off the angel's shoulder. “I mean, if you even _want_ our help, that is.” Sam's curiosity had been piqued just as much as Dean's, now that Cas had acted all weird about it, and the younger Winchester stared down at the angel with his most lethal puppy dog eyes.

Castiel was looking between them again and, _again_ , Dean felt as if the angel was weighing the pros and cons of letting them in one whatever task he'd been given. After only a few seconds of silence, Cas relaxed minutely.

“Your help _would_ be useful,” he acquiesced as he gestured for them all to sit at the table. Apparently it was going to be a long story.

“You mean since you don't know anything about the person you're looking for?” Dean said with a grin. “Yeah, it couldn't help to have some extra people gathering intel.”

All he got was an aborted eye roll in response before Cas leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together under his chin and started explaining.

“A sect of sorcerers have contacted me directly seeking assistance finding someone of great importance that has very suddenly gone missing. They are...desperate. They've exhausted all their resources trying to locate this person and have failed.”

“Ok, two things,” Sam interjected, his eyes already glinting curiously. “Number one, by sorcerers do you mean witches?”

Dean groaned.

“No,” Cas shook his head, his eyebrows drawing together contemplatively. “They're more like monks. They live in isolation on a mountain side and from what I have heard they are an ancient order. It's rumored that their thirst for knowledge is unquenchable and that they're incredibly powerful because of all that they have learned, yet they have no interest in using their power to do anything but gain more knowledge.”

Dean blinked. That sounded...intense. “So if they're not interested in leaving their little mountain fortress then why are they even looking for this guy? Is he part of their group or something? Maybe they're worried he's out blabbing about all the stuff they know?”

“Or he got kidnapped?” Sam brainstormed.

“I don't know,” Cas said. “They didn't tell me.”

“And you didn't ask?” Dean added.

“Actually, I did,” Castiel was quick to correct him. “They never answered.”

Sam and Dean shared a look, practically able to see the little red flags popping up over each other's heads. 

“That doesn't bode well,” Sam was the one to say it.

But, surprisingly, Cas just gave a half shrug, looking wholly unconcerned. “It may just be that the message never reached them. Communicating with them is...tricky.”

“I guess monks living on the side of a mountain probably don't get very good reception,” Sam said.

Cas' gaze rose from where he'd been staring at the table, his eyes flicking over Sam's face as if searching for something. 

“Indeed.”

“Uh...second question,” Sam continued, looking a little unnerved. To be fair, it was Dean who was used to being on the end of that stare. “You said they contacted you specifically...but you've never met them?”

“No, I have not met them, but I spent time in a nearby area once before. It is not unlikely, given all that they know, that they may have heard of me.”

“I thought you said they live in isolation,” Sam said with a frown.

“They still need to eat. It's likely they cannot always find someone to fetch supplies for them and instead make the journey to the town of Ivarstead themselves. But my suspicion is that their desperation to find this person may have pushed them to seek the assistance and information of others.”

“Where the heck is Ivarstead?” Dean asked. “The name sounds kind of Viking-ish. Is it on the east coast or something?”

Cas visibly hesitated here, his gaze flicking down and away from the brothers. “It is the village at the base of the mountain on which the monks live. It is in the province of Skyrim, in the norther region of Tamriel.”

Sam was frowning. “Tamriel? Is that country? I've never heard of it.”

“It's a continent, actually,” Castiel said quietly, watching Sam's face closely.

Dean frowned, looking between the two of them. “There's no continent called Tamriel, Cas,” he said.

One corner of Cas' mouth twitched ever so slightly. “No, there isn't.” The angel's fingers drummed once against the armrest of his chair, his blue eyes still fixed on Sam. “Not on Earth.”

Dean scoffed, ready to laugh, but then he saw Sam's face go slack and his spine stiffen, pulling him upright in his chair like someone had shoved rebar up his ass. He looked back to Cas, taking in his calm expression and realized...

“Wait...are you serious?” Dean asked the angel, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs.

Cas finally looked at him. “Yes.”

Silence rang between the three of them and on some level Dean felt annoyed with how Cas was just sitting there calmly as if he knew he needed to wait for the two poor humans to wrap their tiny minds around the hugeness of what he'd just said. He tried to make his brain process it faster merely out of spite; tried to get over the shock of it quicker than he normally would. 

It wasn't working.

Another planet. A whole other _planet_ with people on it. Dean wasn't so ignorant that he had assumed there wasn't other life out there _somewhere_. He'd just never assumed he'd ever – _ever_ – see it proven in his lifetime. He especially hadn't expected the proof to be so casually shoved in his face, as if it were no big deal. Though, to Cas it probably wasn't. He started to wonder how many other worlds Cas would just fly off to in his spare time but thoughts like that opened a rift in his mind that was full of ever-expanding, black, infinite space and, with a sickening tug in his gut he forced those thoughts away. His mind had been much too bored for much too long and the last thing he needed was his brain stumbling into an existential crisis.

He pulled a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a rush. “Ok...so...some old guys on another planet rang up an _Angel_ of the _Lord_ to find some guy for them?” Dean summarized.

“They did not _call_ me,” Cas said dryly. “They prayed to me.”

“I guess monks living on the side of a mountain on _another planet_ probably don't get very good reception.” Sam looked dazed. 

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes because he honestly felt a little dazed himself. Another _planet_. “Same thing. They prayed for you to come and help them find some random person. That just seems way too simple a task to ask an _angel_ for help. There's gotta be a catch.”

Castiel's gaze turned icy, “You once prayed for me to come help you open a pickle jar.”

Heat flooded Dean's face and he sunk back into his chair a little, swallowing under the angel's irritated gaze. He looked just as annoyed now as he had when Dean had handed him that pickle jar.

“Well...we're friends, it's different,” he tried with a sheepish smile.

Cas glared at him as if to say, ' _no it's really not'_ but it was then that Sam seemed to have finished processing everything and spoke up.

“What...what's the planet called and uh, where...where is it?” he asked tentatively, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Dean couldn’t contain his small sigh of relief when Cas' attention turned back to his brother. 

“The planet, Nirn, is located in Messier Object 104. The Sombrero Galaxy,” Cas clarified when he was given two questioning looks. 

Sam's phone was already in his hands, his thumbs typing furiously.

“And you've been there before?” Dean asked, still feeling a little unsettled about the whole thing.

Cas nodded. “Once. A long time ago.”

“What were you there for?”

Cas blinked, not looking at either of them. “The Oblivion Crisis,” he answered tersely.

Dean stared, searching the angel's face closely. There was something big there, hiding in that answer, and he was itching with curiosity. But the angel's hard tone warned of a dark story, memories Cas likely didn't want to relive at the moment, so he refrained from asking and instead slapped his hands down on the armrests of his chair.

“Well Cas, we asked for something to do and you didn't disappoint. I'm definitely not bored anymore,” he looked to his brother, who was still bent over his phone, peering down at the screen as if it held the answers to the universe. “Whatdaya say, Sammy?”

Sam looked up and the glint in his eye told Dean that he was already sold. 

“I am _so_ in.”

He tossed his phone to Dean, who caught it reflexively. He looked down at the screen and stared at a picture of what must be the Sombrero Galaxy; a flat disk-like formation of millions of stars with a big, bright, glowing centre. It looked massive and formidable against the backdrop of black space behind it and Dean realized that soon he'd be standing on the surface of a planet that was currently floating somewhere in that cloud of stars.

* * *

* * *

Dean stared down at his duffel bag, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to pack.

Cas had left soon after dropping the mother of all hunting opportunities in their laps, supposedly to give them some time to think about it, but both brothers were already fully on board. The problem was that it was hard to prepare for something this epic when you had no idea what you were going in to. 

Castiel had left them with a simple request to pray – “A _proper_ prayer, Dean.” – when they were sure they wanted to commit to the job.

But Dean had been on board before the conversation had even ended and if Sam's sudden obsessive google search-fest on the Sombrero Galaxy was anything to go by, Dean would be willing to bet his brother was all set to go too.

Giving up on packing anything for now, Dean left his room in search of Sam, wondering if he was ready to give Cas a call and head out. It wasn't even properly evening yet, after all, and if his brother was anywhere near as jacked up with nervous, excited energy as he was, Dean was sure neither of them would be able to sleep on it anyway.

He found Sam still sitting in the library, in front of his laptop now, with an intense frown and his fingers resting over his lips thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking, Sam?” he asked his brother as he sat down next to him.

“I think this is fucking mind-blowing,” Sam muttered. There was an intense emotion in his voice that Dean couldn’t quite place, but that had him staring at the side of Sam’s face rather than at the picture of the disk-like galaxy on his laptop. “We've done a lot of crazy shit Dean but we haven't done anything like this,” Sam snapped his laptop shut. “Another planet. We're going to _another planet_. For a _hunt_.”

“But you _do_ want to go, right?” Dean asked, just to be sure. Because it really was a big deal. He’d be lying if he said that, for the last few hours, the black maw of space hadn’t held a much more substantial presence in his mind than it normally did.

Sam looked at him like he'd suddenly grown an extra head. “Of _course_ I want to go. When an angel of the freaking Lord offers to take you to another planet to help out a powerful group of alien monks...you say _yes_.”

A laugh bubbled up Dean's throat. “Alright fine, I'm calling Cas down. I have no idea what I'm supposed to bring with us. Like should we pick up some silver jump suits or something?”

“Yeah, right,” Sam snorted, stretching his arms over his head. “I have a few more questions for him anyway.”

Shocking. Dean cleared his throat.

“A _proper_ prayer, Dean,” Sam suddenly grumbled in an unnervingly Castiel-ish sounding voice.

“Right,” he sighed. “I swear he makes me do this shit just to embarrass me. Ok, Dear Castiel who art in heaven, we humbly accept your super cool mission on another planet. _Amen,_ ” he added with a sneer.

Cas was suddenly standing right in front of him and Dean had to smother the urge to jump; though the shock was quick to fade when he caught sight of the smirk tugging at the angel's lips. 

He scowled. “Oh, you're such a dick.”

“There are a few things we need to discuss before we can leave, and a few precautions we must take,” Castiel told them, breezing past Dean. 

Cas pulled a pretty large duffel bag seemingly out of thin air, and it rattled the table when he threw it down. When he turned back to face the brothers, all traces of the good humor at Dean’s expense was gone; in its place, his face was blank and his gaze held an unusually hard edge.

“The inhabitants of Nirn are much less technologically advanced than those of Earth, despite the fact that they have existed as a species for several hundred million years longer than the humans on Earth.” 

Cas' voice was clipped and sharp in a way Dean had never heard before and he very suddenly realized that Castiel was briefing them like he would his garrison before a mission. 

Dean's might have stood a little straighter, held his head a little higher, after the realization. It was hard to tell.

“That does _not_ mean,” Cas continued sharply, “That the people there are to be underestimated. Many – if not all – of them posses at least some magical abilities and even those that know very little are taught destructive magic at a young age. Anyone we come up against has the potential to wield a ball of fire or lightning just as effectively and lethally as you both use guns and knives. Remember that just because you do not _see_ a weapon does not mean you are not in danger. There are races and species there that will be new to both of you but we will go over that once we arrive.” He paused, as if leaving room for questions. “Which brings us to the next issue. Transporting you from one place on earth to another is very different from transporting you from one planet to another.”

That was really no surprise, Dean thought.

“It will feel similar but will last longer due to the massive distance. There is also a minor complication that may arise once we leave the reach of the etheric plane and have to travel through space.” He frowned, staring between them at the wall as he thought. “Of course, humans need oxygen to stay alive and there is none beyond earth's atmosphere. Luckily, I can fly even faster in the vacuum of space and I can feed oxygen into your blood for the few minutes it takes to reach Nirn. Yes, that should work.”

Cas seemed to be talking to himself now, but Dean was holding up his hands in alarm. “Whoa, what?! You didn't say anything about us having to fly through space!” A quick glance over at Sam showed that his brother looked mildly concerned but no less ready to go.

Cas gave him a curious look. “How else would you get from one planet to another without moving through space?”

"Can't you just like, zap us there like you normally do?” Dean asked desperately. The mere idea of Cas having to _force oxygen into their blood_ so they didn't suffocate in _fucking space_ had his stomach churning.

“What do you think I am doing when I 'zap' you places? I am flying you from point A to point B in the etheric plane,” Cas explained patiently. “The reason I can move so fast is because there is no gravity and no air – much like space – but we're flying such short distances that the lack of oxygen is not a concern.”

“And what did you say about being past the reach of the etheric plane?” Sam asked, curious – not worried – Dean was annoyed to note.

“The etheric plane can be described as a field or layer of...energy or existence. It is the fourth subplane of the physical plane, the lower three being the states of solid, liquid and gaseous matter. But just as with any other form of matter, it cannot self generate. It needs a catalyst and a fuel. In the case of the etheric plane, the energy discharged by the black holes at the center of many galaxies is what generates the energy plane in the first place. The farther from the powerhouse of the black hole you get, the weaker the energy and the thinner the etheric plane becomes until it just disappears entirely. Nirn is actually so far from the center of Messier Object-104 that it is _outside_ the etheric plane altogether, unlike Earth, which is well inside the reach of the energy burn-off. Though to be fair, the black hole at the center of the Milky Way is quite massive in comparison to the one in the Sombrero galaxy.”

It was odd, Dean noted dazedly, that he had never heard Cas talk so much in one sitting. He made a mental note through the fog in his brain to remind the angel to breathe now and then, even though he didn’t have to. 

Cas was staring at Sam expectantly. “Does that answer your question?” the angel asked sincerely.

“And then some,” Sam assured him with a jerky nod.

Cas reached for the bag he'd dumped on the table and upended it, spilling its contents. Dean and Sam both stepped to the edge of the table to take a closer look and found themselves looking at a pile of strange looking clothing.

“This stuff looks like it's right out of a medieval fashion magazine,” Dean said as he held up some leather boots with straps all around them.

“This is awesome,” Sam laughed, a dark green, wool tunic in his hands.

“The monks managed to communicate some coordinates near a city we should start our search in. I'm almost certain I translated them correctly – we shall see, I suppose. Change as soon as you are ready and we'll leave right away,” Castiel announced gravely as he picked through the pile of clothes for his own outfit. “You won’t need to bring anything.” At this, he looked up sharply, as if just remembering something. “Do _not_ bring anything electronic or anything you would not find,” he glanced at Dean, “in medieval Europe. No phones, lighters, flashlights, electronics or guns. It will only attract _very_ unwanted attention.”

Dean had been good right up until the no guns part. “Wait, no guns? Cas -”

“There are other ways of protecting ourselves. You and Sam are both excellent with blades and we do not need rumours of three strangers with exploding sticks moving all over Skyrim while we are trying to manoeuvre as unnoticed as possible.” Cas fixed him with a look that left absolutely no room for argument. “No guns.” 

_That's an order_ wasn't said out loud but it was most certainly implied.

* * *

“Dude, this is practically a dress,” Dean grumbled as he walked back into the library.

He glared down at himself. He'd tried to choose the least weird looking clothes in the pile that Cas had dumped on the table but had still managed to end up looking like a street beggar during the Black Plague. Admittedly, the boots weren't half bad – strong, dark brown and well worn leather that came halfway up his shins, with straps wrapped around them that would be perfect for holding a small blade. The pants were pretty tame, if not a little worn and dirty looking. They felt like softened canvas and might have even been white at one point but now were a dirty light brown color. On his torso we wore a short sleeved, dark green tunic that was cinched around his hips with a leather belt and a wide, plunging neck line that could only be closed up by tightening the cotton string that crisscrossed through the fabric. He wondered what the point of such a neck line might be as he made sure – for the third time – that it was securely tied closed. The tunic went halfway down his thighs. He looked ridiculous.

When he looked up, he saw that Sam didn't look much better but at least he didn't seem to care. Dean was surprised Cas actually managed to find clothes that fit him properly, but Sam's outfit was similar to Dean's except his tunic was brown and had a decent neckline that didn't need to be tied closed like Dean's.

Both of them had found small, leather satchels within the pile as well and it had taken their combined brain power to figure out how to get them on properly. One strap went over their shoulder and the other around their waist, holding the bag securely against them so that it did not dangle annoyingly and get in the way like a normal shoulder bag would have.

“I feel like I'm in a play,” Sam said, glancing down at himself for the tenth time. “This is so weird.”

Before Dean could make a smart-ass remark, Castiel's gravely voice made them both turn.

“We should go now,” the angel said as he strode into the room. “I think I have accurately predicted the current time there and it will be nightfall soon. I will be tired after such a long flight and the two of you will likely feel out of sorts for a few hours. I do not wish to have to find a place to sleep in the dark.”

Dean only heard half of what Cas said, he was so busy staring at him. 

Cas was wearing a tunic also, but the sleeves on his were longer and went all the way down to his hands. It was a dark blue that Dean refused to admit matched his eyes perfectly and was cinched around his hips with a dark leather belt just like Dean’s. It had a wide, open neck that the angel had laced up much more loosely than Dean had his own, leaving a sliver of tanned skin visible to just below his sternum. His pants were a darker brown, almost as dark as his boots, which had straps around them just like Sam and Dean's.

There was a handful of times that Dean had seen the angel in something other than his suit and trench coat, and they had all be just as strange as seeing Cas now was. In Dean’s mind, Cas’ clothes were as much a part of him as his blue eyes or his messy black hair and Dean thought that seeing Cas in anything other than that stupid trench felt just as strange as seeing him bald would.

Forcefully blinking hard as if to reboot the image of Castiel in his mind, Dean caught sight of something on the angel's hand that neither he nor Sam had found in the pile of clothes.

“Is that a ring?” he asked curiously.

Cas raised his hand to look at the thick silver band on his finger, spinning it with his thumb. “Yes. It was given to me last time I was in Tamriel. It's has a regeneration enchantment on it, which is very useful, given that I am cut off from the etheric plane. When I use my powers there it is impossible to draw energy from the ether simply because it is not there, so I have to regenerate it myself.” He held up his hand when both brothers came forward to look. “The enchantment allows me to use my abilities but expend less power and at the same time helps me regenerate my grace faster once it has been depleted.”

Dean peered down at the apparently magical object. It was just a plain silver band, pretty scuffed up, the shine having long since worn off it. It wasn't glowing or anything; there was no indication that it was magical at all.

“Are you both ready to go?” Castiel asked them.

The brothers shared a look and took a step back, nodding resolutely. Dean's stomach clenched a little; he'd been able to put off the thought of barreling through space out of his mind but now that it was go-time, those worries all came rushing back. 

“As I said before. This will be different from the other times you've flown with me,” Castiel warned them with a solemn look. “It will be disorientating and there may be a few moments where you feel like you cannot breathe but I assure you that there will be ample oxygen in your blood so...not to worry.”

Cas had already told them this of course but Dean couldn't help but feel a small amount of trepidation. Knowing that he wasn't going to suffocate probably wasn't going to be much of a consolation when he was soaring through the vacuum of space and his lungs were desperately gasping for air that did not exist. If he cared at all, he might have asked the angel just _how_ he was going to feed them oxygen...but he couldn't care. So long as Cas kept his promise, that was all that mattered. Besides, he likely wouldn't even understand Cas' explanation anyway.

“Ok, lets do this!” he exclaimed, before he lost his nerve. Despite the fact that he was clothed, he felt naked. Cas had forbidden them from bringing anything. Even knives. Apparently even basic weaponry had a very different look where they were going and even though he understood and agreed with the reasoning, Dean didn't have to be happy about it.

“Take my hands,” Cas instructed, holding one out to each brother.

Dean's heart made an effort to climb into his throat before he pushed it back down. He could do this. He could take an angel’s hand and fly through space to another planet. He was Dean-fucking-Winchester. He took Castiel's hand and was surprised by how warm it was – he'd always assumed the angel would be cold, like the marble statues they often mimicked.

Though Anna had definitely been warm, he wasn’t sure why he assumed Cas wouldn’t be.

Blue eyes flicked between both of them, a touch of concern there. “I will fly as hard and fast as I can, but it will still take me between twelve and fourteen minutes to reach Nirn. Just so you are aware and can prepare yourselves.” 

Dean felt Cas' grip on his hand tighten considerably and he looked at his brother, offering a crooked smile of encouragement and getting one in return.

“On three,” Cas rumbled calmly. The silver band around the angel's finger was hot against Dean's skin. 

“One.”

Dean exhaled sharply, willing his heart to stop hammering against his ribs.

“Two.”

He looked up and found Cas' steady, reassuring gaze already watching him and his pulse settled a little.

“ _Three_.”

* * *

For the first three or four seconds the sensation of being teleported – or flown, he corrected himself – by Cas was familiar, but still very disconcerting. Like he was being squeezed into too small a space. Except instead of being thrown to the ground a split second later the sensation just went on and on. When he dared open his eyes everything rushed by him in flashes and streaks of grey, rushing by at mind boggling speeds. One second Dean thought he might have seen snowy mountain peaks and then he was looking down at the shrinking Atlantic Ocean.

There was no time to even panic about how fast the earth was shrinking as they sped from it as, seconds later, the last thing Dean was worried about was keeping his eyes open. 

The air rushed from his lungs and the space around him became frigid, like he'd suddenly been dumped into a tub of ice water.

He couldn't even gasp with the shock of it, because when his lungs instinctively made a desperate attempt to expand, they managed only to shudder in his chest, and a cold spike of panic cut through him like a lance. 

_He couldn't breathe._ Cas had told him he wouldn't be able to, but just like he'd suspected, that did nothing to calm his instincts. His brain was telling his body that he was suffocating, even though he knew he wasn't, and his body was responding to it. His muscles were cramping, trying to draw him into a fetal position and his lungs were still stubbornly twitching in his chest and it was all so fucking uncomfortable and he was _so fucking cold_...

Almost as if the thought itself could change things, Dean suddenly felt warmth spread through him like he'd just chugged a glass of whiskey, it burned pleasantly and for a whole two seconds, Dean forgot about the horrendous feeling of not being able to breathe. 

He became aware that it wasn't just his lungs that felt like they were in an iron cage but his body as well. He was pressed against something as solid as a rock and there was pressure along his back and was this what Jimmy had been talking about when he described being a vessel?

Chained to a comet, indeed.

He just wished he could _breathe_ , for fuck's sake, just a lung full, just _once,_ because this was such a goddamn mind-fuck he thought he might go crazy if it didn't end soon.

And then just like that he was suddenly standing on solid ground. 

At least he was until he crumpled like a wet piece of paper. He didn’t care that he lay in a heap on the ground, only that he could finally _breathe_. He sucked a lungful of sweet, precious oxygen into his lungs so hard a few blades of grass came with it and he coughed.

It took Dean a minute to shake away the dregs of confusion and another minute to get the stars over his head to stop smearing together like a Van Gogh painting. He felt like he'd just been thrown off a merry-go-round that had been spinning at top speed and his head was still on that merry-go-round even though his body was still. Eventually, though, things started to settle and the rest of his senses agreed to processing information again.

He was laying in cool, wet grass, he realized, and he kept right on laying there, hauling lungful after lungful of crisp, clear, wonderful air into his body and worming his fingers into the dewy blades, letting it soak into his thin tunic and pants, relishing the hard ground under him.

“ _Never. Again,_ ” he heard Sam mumble off to his left.

The moonlight was strong and Dean struggled into a sitting position to try and get a look around.

Slivers of moonlight cutting through fat clouds highlighted the rolling foothills in which they had landed, revealing a patch-work of scrubby bushes, tall grasses and scattered boulders. Beyond that, the dark shape of mountains rose against the horizon, blotting out stars and poking at clouds. In the deepening darkness of the night, not much else could be seen.

There was a gentle breeze raking through the foliage around them, rustling the grass and carrying the sweet smell of recent rain and damp earth under their noses. In the distance, the drowsy hoot of an owl barely reached them.

With a monumental effort, Dean pushed himself to his feet slowly, groaning when his muscles resisted. He felt heavy, like he was full of sand. Though he supposed it might have something to do with being force-fed oxygen for fifteen minutes.

He took another deep breath, willing his blood to carry oxygen to his muscles faster. 

“Man, that was fucking brutal,” he muttered, turning to his brother.

Sam was sitting only a few feet away, already looking around with wide, curious eyes. He gave a sudden start and then his gaze started snapping this way and that. 

“Where's Cas?”

Dean looked around quickly. He’d half expected to see the angel standing serenely nearby, like he always did while Sam and Dean gathered themselves after a flight. But Cas was nowhere to be found and a spike of worry wasted no time shoving itself down Dean's throat. 

Had Cas crash landed somewhere else? He'd told them the flight here would exhaust him, had something gone wrong? Dean helped Sam to his feet and they took a few seconds to steady themselves before starting to turn in slow circles, eyes raking over the thatches of tall grass of the alien landscape that surrounded them.

The breeze ruffled their hair, carrying the chill of evening with it like a threat, and the faint outline of the distant mountains had bled seamlessly into the night sky like a solid black wall. Overhead, the clouds began to merge and the moonlight slowly faded.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The chill of night rode in on the back of the gentle breeze and sleepy birdsong tapered off as the sun sank even lower behind a distant mountain ridge, seeming to pull the cloud cover down with it.

Dean felt as if he was in a cave and his torch was slowly dying.

“Cas?” Dean called hesitantly, unsure of what kind of wildlife he might be attracting by speaking too loudly. 

They were unarmed and had no idea what kind of alien monsters might be lurking in the bushes. In his mind’s eye, images of slime-covered beasts with too many eyes kept jumping out at him from the darkness. Though, Dean reminded himself as his stomach twisted, if that _did_ happen, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Cas!” Sam dared to call a little louder.

The worry was just starting to turn to panic when they heard Cas' voice several yards away. 

“Here,” the angel growled from within a clump of scraggy bushes, sounding even more annoyed than usual.

Before the brothers could manage to coax their legs into moving them forward, they saw Cas' messy head of dark hair suddenly pop out from within the hardy shrubbery, looking a little dazed but otherwise unharmed. They rushed – as much as they could rush given that their legs felt still felt like jelly – over to offer a hand up.

Before they could reach him, Cas sat up on his own and the brothers stumbled to a halt, their faulty legs forgotten.

Just behind Cas was the unmistakable arch of a massive wing joint over each shoulder and from where he stood ten paces away, Dean could clearly make out the signs of a hard landing in the chaotic mess of white and tawny feathers.

“Holy sh...” Sam trailed off before saying anything too blasphemous in front of an angel.

“Oh, I'm _fine_ ,” Cas snapped at them, struggling to his feet while the brothers continued to gape. “Don't help me.”

Dean was trying, he really was, but his brain – which still felt like it was hurtling through space – was in no shape to process all the strange things his eyeballs were asking it to make sense of. 

Of course he knew that angels had wings. So obviously Cas had wings too. Hell, he’d _seen_ the stark shadows of them on several occasions with his own eyes. But knowing was so much different then seeing. Seeing them _attached_ to the angel by flesh and bone and muscle was surreal. Seeing how they were shifting and moving with Cas; how they matched his mannerisms and even how they mirrored his micro expressions even though all he was doing was standing up and brushing himself off…It made it obvious that they were a natural part of him – more natural than any other part of the angel as Dean had come to know him – and the stark evidence of Castiel’s _otherness_ was something Dean had never before been forced to acknowledge before.

Not like this.

It left him feeling unsettled and he made a solid effort to wrangle his thoughts back to the present issues. Mainly, finding out if his friend was ok.

The massive wings shifted while Cas took a moment to steady his legs under him, twitching out to hover like counter weights against his center of gravity each time he wobbled.

The fact that the angel was also shaky after their short trip through space made Dean feel a little bit better about how slowly he was recovering. Though he supposed Cas had been working much, much harder than either he or Sam. Mostly, Dean had just been gripping on to the angel like a terrified baby gorilla to its mother.

Cas was picking bits of grass off his blue tunic while Sam stumbled over to them. When the angel spread his right wing a bit to pull a twig from between his feathers with a displeased frown, Dean couldn’t help but track the fluid movement of the new limb.

Trying not to be too obvious about it, he took a moment longer to observe while Cas was preoccupied.

The wings were huge, though it was hard to judge the true span of them, folded as they were. The undersides were white, from what Dean could see when they flared for a second each time the angel went digging for another bit of twig or grass. But the backs were a tableau of rich color. The long flight feathers were light brown at the ends and grew lighter, fading to white towards the roots, and dotted speckles of grey and black. Halfway up and over the arches of the wings the browns were deeper, richer, like burnt gold and sienna, with patches of white in in places. There were more bands of grey and black speckles all through these feathers as well and Dean desperately wanted to get a closer look. 

He remembered, when he was a little kid and their family had still been whole, seeing a barn owl in a zoo and couldn't help but compare the memory of it’s wings to Cas’. Much like the barn owl’s, Cas’ wings were sleek and long, all clean lines and edges. 

And like the barn owl, Dean could clearly see that, in the air, Cas was likely even more dangerous than he was on the ground.

“Your wings...” apparently, his mouth was trying to help and he snapped his jaw shut with heat flaring in his face.

Done with cleaning his wings, Cas seemed wholly unconcerned with the stuttering and staring, rubbing at one eye with his fist like a sleepy child while he stared off along the mountain range behind the brothers, his wings settling against his back with a few twitches and a quick resettling.

“I told you there is no etheric plane here,” Castiel reminded them absently.

Right. Dean remembered once when Cas had tried to explain why humans couldn't see an angel's wings. There had followed a very, very _long_ explanation that involved a lot of physics and several mentions of the mysterious etheric plane where wings were hidden for protection and convenience. 

By the time Dean's brain caught up with his eyes, Sam – as usual – had already moved on and, in a hilarious role reversal, was standing far into Cas' personal space bubble, his eyes positively glowing with curiosity. At first, Cas seemed not to notice Sam standing so close but then he froze in his perusal of the landscape and turned to stare up at Dean's giant of a brother.

“Sam?” he grumbled, sounding confused.

“How did they get through your shirt without ripping it to shreds?” Sam asked immediately.

Dean saw Cas lean away as Sam leaned in closer, wings twitching and folding tighter against his back, and the movement somehow translated as ' _nervous_ '.

“Sam!” Dean barked at his brother when he just kept staring at the angel's wings. “Back off, man, you're freaking him out.” He didn't bother mentioning to the angel that _this_ was how it felt to be stared at, because he'd be lying if he said it still bothered him like it used to. Sure, when he'd first met Cas that soul-piercing stare was a little unnerving but now...well he didn't mind it all the much. Not when it was coming from Cas. That’s just the way Cas was. No one else could get away with it though.

Besides, it somehow seemed different in this moment. From what he understood, an angel's wings were somewhat vulnerable and Cas wasn't used to having them visible, he was probably feeling a little exposed.

Sam backed off, muttering apologies with a thousand questions still shining in his eyes, which Cas uncharacteristically picked up on.

“You can ask whatever questions you wish as soon as we find a place to sleep,” Castiel placated, glancing up at the dark, cloud-laden sky before turning his back on Sam and starting to walk. “And I cut holes in the back of my tunic before we left. Now, if my calculations were correct, then we are in the fields just to the west of the city of Whiterun. Though how far west remains to be seen and it is later in the day than I anticipated.” 

He threw the brothers a pointed look when he realized they were still frozen in place several yards away. “If we go _now_ , we _should_ be there before midnight, at least, and hopefully the guards will let us enter the city.”

Dean and Sam both jumped, jogging to catch up. 

It had obviously just finished raining before they arrived. The hardy grass and scraggly brown shrubs were dark with damp color and the smell of rain and wet earth was still heavy. As they walked, the wet grass whipped against their leather boots and in some places it was tall enough to soak their pant legs.

In the darkness, it was hard to see where their feet were landing before they made contact with the ground and it made progress slow as they picked their way through the clumps of foliage and loose rocks, careful not to twist their ankles or fall.

Leading the march up ahead, Castiel's wings where blocking most of his body from view, not to mention the gentle pattern of whites and browns and greys were blending into the surrounding scenery incredibly well in the dark and Dean was sure that if Cas stopped moving, he'd be nearly impossible to spot.

The brothers fell in to step on either side of Cas, flanking him, and Dean couldn't help but notice from the corner of his eye that the angel's gait didn't seem as fluid as it normally was and he had a white knuckled grip on the satchel strap across his chest.

“You doing ok, Cas?” he asked after a while. He still didn't feel a hundred percent himself but he hadn't been the one doing any of the work it had taken to get them all here. 

“I...I am quite tired,” Cas confessed grudgingly, stumbling a little even as he said it.

It meant a lot that Cas had admitted it out loud, and Dean's hand darted out to steady him, his fingers wrapping around a well-muscled arm. 

This, at least, was familiar. It was far from the first time he’d found Cas in need of a supportive hand. He’d found the angel hurt and bleeding and exhausted too many times. At least Dean could say he was good at helping him that way, at least…when Cas allowed it, anyway.

“Thank you,” Cas said lowly.

 _'He's exhausted'_ , Dean realized, feeling Cas leaning into him heavily. Cas was a stubborn son of a bitch when it came to admitting he was hurt so the fact that he was accepting help now was cause for concern.

“How far do you think it is, Cas?” Sam asked, casting a worried glance down at the angel.

They couldn’t see much, but there was an obvious oppressiveness to their surroundings that made Dean quite sure that the clouds over their heads with getting lower and lower as the minutes ticked by.

“I'm...I'm not sure.” 

Something in Cas' voice had both Sam and Dean coming to a halt and Dean actually brought his other hand up to brace against the angel’s shoulder.

“Cas, you don't look so hot, buddy.”

And he really didn't. In the poor light it was still easy to see most of the color had drained from his face and even with both brothers now supporting him he was swaying.

Sam looked around desperately, trying to spot this city Cas was talking about, but there wasn't a thing in sight except grass and shrubs and a few big boulders.

“Can we just...sit...for a moment?” Cas asked just before his legs gave out.

Reflexively, Dean caught him under the arms, feeling soft – insanely soft – feathers sliding against the backs of his hands, and together he and Sam lowered him to the ground as gently as they could.

“Shit, he's out cold,” Sam announced with concern, placing a hand on Cas’ chest. 

Cas didn’t so much as twitch. 

Dean sighed, anxiety curdling his guts. “Great. We're on an alien planet, in the dark, and our tour guide is taking a power nap.” 

Sam glared at him. “Dean, Cas is in bad shape and we're in the middle of nowhere. We have to...find some kind of shelter...” he trailed off, twisting to look this way and that as if he might be able to see something in the dark. After a moment, he sighed sharply. “Let's just keep moving this way. Hopefully we can find something that will work.”

Because the threat of another storm was pressing down on them.

On a good day, when they were full of energy and could actually see, carrying an unconscious, six-foot-tall man over uneven terrain would have been difficult. In the dark, with legs that were already shaking, it was hard work. Strap a pair of wings to the guy's back and it became impossible. 

“Shit, Sam, stop, put him down,” he told his brother, breathing hard. He hoped the spots of light dancing at the corner of his eyes were some kind of alien fireflies.

He blinked hard a few times and they vanished. Ok so, he was probably close to passing out too. Great.

They'd only made it about a hundred yards before the grass gave way to more stubby bushes and Dean could feel Cas’ feathers catching on the shrubbery and tugging at his wings as they stumbled along.

“We need to like,” he made a helpless gesture, panting “...find a way to keep his wings off the ground. Check your bag, see if there's a scarf or some rope or something.”

He dug through his own bag but it was empty except for a roll of weird looking paper and a small bag of what sounded like coins clinking together.

“I've got rope!” Sam said triumphantly, holding up a small coil of braided hemp.

It took a few minutes to work out the best way to tie the rope so that it didn't hurt Cas or his wings but eventually they were grabbing his feet and shoulders again and moving forward once more. Luckily the hemp was soft and well-used, so they had simply slid it under Cas’ wings and tied it snugly around his chest without any worry that it would chafe too badly.

“Can't see a damn thing,” Sam grumbled, tripping over a rock and stumbling.

Dean glanced skyward, thinking that if the clouds would just clear away for a god damn minute they might be able to see better with the moon lighting the way – he assumed there _was_ a moon. He could see brief cracks in the cloud cover here and there, little blinking stars hanging in the blackness of space just behind them, and he stumbled, remembering that less than an our ago he'd fucking been _up there_.

“I’m so damn tired,” Sam suddenly panted. 

They hadn't been walking that long, and Cas was a lot lighter than his frame and giant wings would suggest, but after the journey they'd had to get there, both of them were exhausted. Dean could feel his arms shaking under Cas' weight and he worried he might not be able to hold him up much longer.

The shallow dips and rises of the foothills were abruptly bathed in moonlight and Dean actually did stumble to a halt, blinking around at his suddenly visible surroundings.

“Dean...Dean _look at the moons!_ ”

At Sam's use of the word 'moons' – fucking _plural_ thank you very much - his eyes snapped to the night sky and he nearly dropped the unconscious angel.

A massive, glowing moon hung in the sky over their heads, so close that he could see its crater-marked surface in much more detail than he'd like to. Right next to it was a smaller moon and their combined light was flooding the landscape around them. 

As he gazed up at it, his insides twisted with the unnaturalness of the sight, but the storm clouds still moving across the night sky enabled Dean to shelve the sickening feeling and he quickly looked around before their light source disappeared again.

“There!” He jabbed his chin in the direction behind Sam and his brother looked over his shoulder where he could see a shelf of rock jutting up into the air a few feet. It would be enough to block the wind at least, and to maybe catch the heat of a fire if they could get one going.

They thanked their lucky stars that the clouds stayed away long enough for them to pick their way down the terrain as it began to slope gently downwards. The outcropping of rock that he had seen looked like it hedged a dried-up basin. He hoped the ground wasn’t too wet and worried about the chill in the air. He didn't want to lay their unconscious angel out on the cold wet ground.

He could just make out their destination about twenty yards away before the clouds passed over the moons again and they were plunged back in to darkness.

“Uh, we have a problem,” Sam suddenly declared, coming to a halt. Again. His head was turned, looking back over his shoulder at their destination. His expression was grave when he turned back to Dean. “I think our shelter is actually a pond. I caught sight of it right before the clouds...”

The sky cleared again and Dean squinted, trying to see what Sam was talking about. Dammit, did he need glasses or something? But then he saw it, the shine of shallow water reflecting moonlight, and sagged.

His arms and legs were both shaking badly, but they pressed on, continued on the same path for lack of a better option, and soon discovered that is wasn't just a water logged dip in the ground but the bend in a creek. The shallow body of flowing water was less than twenty feet across and the water itself was flowing lazily.

Around the bend and a few meters back from the water’s edge, there was a second, smaller set of rocks jutting up out of the ground and the brothers, exhausted, decided it would have to do. They settled Cas down – on his side so his wings could lay lax on the ground behind him – before quickly trying to gather some dry tinder and branches to get a fire going and push back the chill in the air. They only partially succeeded and soon had a cluster of dry-ish grass that they had pulled out from under some bushes and damp sticks.

“So uh, tell me you have some kind of Les Stroud survival skills I don't know about and can get a fire going by rubbing some sticks together,” Dean said once he’d planted himself on his ass next to their sad pile of kindling.

Sam gave a little half smile, digging through his bag. “I actually _do_ know how to do that but I thought we might just use a flint instead.” He pulled what looked like two cylindrical black rocks from his bag and moved to crouch near where they’d decided the fire should go.

After that they finally caught a break and the fire started easily, though Dean did have to blow on it so much that he was feeling light headed by the time the spark caught. But it was worth it because now they had warmth _and_ light. 

Cas was still out cold but they had untied the rope and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. With the wall of rock at their backs, the warmth from the fire was reflected and retained a little better in their shallow shelter. Dean wasn’t sure if angels could get cold but hoped it helped all the same.

Cas hadn't so much as twitched through all the jostling and talking and stumbling over the last hour or so. At least it had only felt like a bit more than an hour. It was impossible to tell and they had no watches.

Dean was trying not to worry, though he wished he had a blanket or a jacket or _something_ to put under Cas' head or over his legs to try and make him more comfortable. As the night was going, they were likely in for an uncomfortable sleep.

With a sigh, Dean settled himself with his back to the flattest rock and allowed his gaze to settle on Cas' face. Usually his skin was golden, perfectly tan, but in the dark his face looked pale and too still and it made Dean's stomach cramp with worry.

For what felt like the hundredth time since they'd coaxed the story from Cas, Dean wondered what the catch was here, because he didn't think Cas would put himself through such a taxing venture just to help a bunch of strange monks. Or maybe he had just been bored too. 

Or, knowing Cas, perhaps his curiosity was just too strong for him to ignore the summons.

“You wanna sleep in shifts then?” Sam asked him, staring blankly into the fire. His eyes were drooping and his face was pale and drawn even in the warm glow of the fire.

With a sigh, Dean answered to the affirmative, letting his gaze fall to the flames as well. “You sleep first. I'll wake you in a few hours.”

“Wake me if Cas comes around too,” his brother mumbled, stretching out on his front right in the dirt and arranging his bag under his head. 

Dean was pretty sure he was asleep before his head even hit the leather.

It was a little creepy, Dean realized, with no sound besides that of the crackling fire and the soft trickle of water in the rocky creek a few dozen feet away. He'd been camping before; had slept outdoors before; had slept in the Impala more times than he could count.

This was different. They had no food and no tents and most importantly, no weapons. The rocks at his back were a small comfort – at least nothing could sneak up on them from behind – and he supposed the creek offered some small amount of warning if someone – or some _thing_ – tried to cross it.

But still. He felt exposed sitting weaponless in the dark on his own planet, much less so on a new one. He tried glancing around at their surroundings, trying to see all the alien monsters that might be hiding just beyond the reach of the firelight. But the clouds had not cleared again.

Perhaps even more disturbing than the differences, were the similarities, which were all Dean seemed able to see and hear. The sound of a gentle breeze ruffling grass and bushes; water flowing in the stream and curling around pebbles and rocks on the shore; the smell of a coming storm; the chill of day transitioning to night.

If he hadn’t known better, he would have been able to believe he was still on earth and it was this, for the moment, that left Dean feeling unnerved.

Movement from Cas pulled Dean's gaze and thoughts over immediately and he shuffled closer, placing a hand on Cas' shoulder, careful not to touch his wings. He wasn't sure why.

“Cas?”

The angel's eyes fluttered open and for a moment he looked confused, trapped in that place between unconsciousness and waking where you tried to remember where you were and why you were there. His blue eyes snapped to the fire and one of his wings twitched at his back. After that the memories must have caught up with him, for his ever-present frown smoothed by a fraction and he slid his gaze up to meet Dean’s.

Dean managed to hold his relieved sigh in but expressed it all the same by tightening his grip on Cas’ shoulder and quipping. “Was starting to worry.” 

He helped Cas sit up, though the angel grimaced and huffed when his longest flight feathers dragged against the ground. He rolled into a crouch, wings arching up high and the tips reaching into the air in an obvious stretch, before he pulled them down against his back once more, the feathers ruffling to settle back into place. 

Just like a bird, Dean couldn't help but compare. Though he doubted Cas would appreciate it.

“So...” he ventured. “You're feeling better?” He backed off, trying really hard not to stare. He felt like he’d done enough of that for the wings to be a bit more normal now but his brain seemed to be stubbornly fascinated by them.

“Yes. Thank you. I'm sorry, I...” Cas cleared his throat and looked away, as if embarrassed. “I pushed myself too hard trying to get here as fast as possible and lessen the length of your and Sam's discomfort.” He shifted his shoulders as if to dispel a kink in the muscle and the wings shifted with him. But then his expression cleared and he actually looked a bit smug. “But I got us here in seven minutes.”

Dean was fascinated when one corner of Cas' lips pulled up in a little smirk. 

“That's a record, I'll have you know,” the angel informed him.

Unable to help it, Dean huffed a quiet laugh. Now that he knew Cas was ok and they were all safe, seeing Cas beaming with pride because he beat a record flying between planets made Dean so relived that he was almost giddy. 

Sometimes, his life was absolutely ridiculous.

“So, you gonna brag about it on angel radio?” he asked, grinning broadly and settling back against the large rocks again.

“Oh yes,” Cas said, his smirk turning into something playfully devious. “Adriel has been boasting of having done it in nine minutes for the last two centuries. They’ll hate that I’ve beaten it by two full minutes.”

“So…angels make the trip out here pretty often then?” he asked, wondering what other questions he could ask that might get another smile or smirk from Cas. It was such an unusual thing to see on the angel’s face.

And wasn’t that a sad realization, Dean thought.

“Sometimes, yes,” Cas was staring into the fire now, his face gone slack. It appeared that even angels were not immune to the hypnotic effect of flames. “I was only here once before, during the Oblivion Crisis – it is a _very_ long story,” he added when Dean opened his mouth to ask. “My entire garrison was sent to help and then Adriel's as well when it became clear we needed more soldiers. We stayed for a few months and then left when everything looked like it was starting to settle.”

“So angels don't have just Earth to watch over?” Dean asked.

Cas seemed to hesitate in the way he often did when thinking how best to communicate what he meant. 

“Earth was the last planet we had direct orders from God to watch over. Nirn was not one of His creations, but it was on our radar, as you would say.”

That had Dean sitting up again with a frown. “Wait, if God didn't create Nirn then who did? I thought he'd just kind of made everything.”

Cas gave him an incredulous look, huffing a little laugh like he thought Dean had made a particularly outlandish joke.

Heat flared in the hunter's face but he ignored it. “Judging by your reaction I'm guessing I thought wrong.”

“God...” Cas licked his lips, his smile small and fond, “There are rather a lot of things that exist. No _one_ God would be able to take credit for all of it,” he shrugged, “Though some try. It is more common, as it is with my Father, that it is the fanatical followers who claim such impossible things.”

Dean shook head, trying to resettle all the new questions that popped up after every answer Cas gave him. “There's more than one God?”

Cas merely frowned. “Of course. Dean, you _met_ several of them the night Lucifer killed Gabriel.”

Oh. Right. “Yeah but I thought they were like...like little gods that just kind of stuck to earth business. Demi-gods! Demi means partial, doesn't it?” Dean hated it when someone looked at him like he was stupid – he wasn't stupid thank you very much – but Cas was looking at him like he was concerned Dean had injured his head on the trip through space and it was making his cheeks burn.

“Demi _does_ mean partial,” Cas' expression cleared like he suddenly understood what the problem was. “Gods like Kali and Artimus and the others _are_ true Gods but it is...an unwritten rule that when one God visits the creation of another that they step down a title out of respect.”

“So if God – _our_ God – came here to Nirn...” Dean trailed off, so many questions swirling in his head that he didn't really know where to start.

“He would be considered a demigod by the people here. That is, if he even stayed long enough to make a name for himself,” Cas was staring at him intently now, his blue eyes shining in the golden firelight, waiting for Dean’s next question.

Dean realized that Cas had always seemed to enjoy talking about this kind of thing. When Dean had first met him, he remembered the angel muttering every now and then about how humans had skewed and mutilated the content of the bible so badly that it hardly rang true anymore. The physics stuff Dean was never really able to follow on the rare occasion that Cas started rambling about it. But this stuff? Gods and space and planets and angels? This he could understand. What was more, it was important. Because this was Cas’ world and Dean realised then that he had never really asked about it. Not in any way that would matter. Not in any way that would make him understand _Cas_ better.

He thought of all the questions Cas used to ask them – and all the questions he still asks. Cas was always trying to learn more about humans, trying to deepen his knowledge so he could understand and fit in to their lives better. What has Dean done in return?

He swallowed.

“So God...your...your father...has a name? Just like Kali and all the others?” Saying the words felt strange for some reason. Talking about God like he was Cas' dad, like he'd spent Cas' childhood sitting in some leather lazy-boy with a beer in his hand felt…wrong. He didn’t know why.

Cas was smiling at him, wide enough to show a flash of straight white teeth, and Dean found himself unconsciously mirroring it.

“ _Jehovah_.”

There was real reverence in Castiel's voice, among a slew of other things that Dean couldn't put a name to. Despite all that he had been through at the hands of his father, Cas still had a flicker of adoration in his eyes when speaking his name.

And Dean could understand that better than most.

Sam suddenly stirring derailed their conversation, which was fine by Dean because with every question that Cas answered about fifty more sparked in Dean's brain and he was too tired for revelations this profound.

“I told you to wake me up when Cas woke up,” Sam complained groggily, rolling onto his back and squinting over at the angel. “You feeling better, Cas?”

“Yes. Luckily, I have the ring, otherwise it would have taken hours for me to regain the power I lost getting here.”

“He got here in seven minutes,” Dean informed Sam pointedly. “A record.”

Sam huffed a laugh, flopping down on to his back and readjusting the satchel under his head.

With a grin, Dean turned back to Cas, immediately noticing that his wings looked considerably puffier than they had a second ago. The little tiny feathers all along the leading edges had fluffed up, like how hair stands on end when a person gets spooked or has goosebumps, and the wings themselves had opened a little, moving away from Cas' body where they had been tucked tight against him a moment before.

“Oh my Jehovah, are you angel-blushing?” Dean teased with a wide grin, delighted when those little feathers rose even more.

Cas ducked his head, “Shut up.”

Sam was chuckling, rubbing at one eye.

Dean shook his head, “And to think, Sam, we always thought he was so stoic and soldiery...if only we could have seen his wings! Could have read him like a book!”

Cas glared at him and the feathers immediately smoothed down tight, but almost immediately rose again a few millimeters like he couldn't totally control it.

“I doubt very much that you’d be able to read my wings even if you had a lifetime to study angelic communication styles.”

Dean raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Ok, ok I'm sorry, I'll stop, I promise.” Even though Cas was blushing with his wings it did nothing to make that glare any less terrifying.

“You should both go to sleep now,” Cas grumbled, giving each of them a sharp look. “I want to keep moving at first light. The city should not be far. Maybe a few hours walk at most.”

“What's the plan when we get there?” Sam asked.

“There is an Inn - at least, the Greybeards said there should be. I hope their information was accurate. I have a passing knowledge of some areas of Skyrim but I only ever flew over on my way to and from Cyrodiil. If Whiterun turns out to be as big a town as the Greybeards promised, then we will buy a room for a few nights and gather as much information as we can. We’ll need a map, directions, supplies, weapons, armor, food…We'll also need to speak to the Jarl, as I was told by the Greybeards in their message that he may have some useful information on their missing person.”

“The...Jarl?” Sam repeated.

Cas had said it with a different lilt to his voice than usual, like an accent just for that word. Sharp and guttural, he’d pronounced it like ‘Yarl’.

“Less than a King more than a Baron,” he explained.

“And who are the Greybeards?” Dean asked.

“The monks, of course. The ones who asked me to come. Now go to sleep, both of you. You'll be useless if you don't get some rest.” 

Cas stood, stretching his arms over his head, and the brothers watched as his wings unfolded and spread wide, straining in opposite directions and filling up the entire space of their little camp. 

They were huge, quite simply put, and the ease and dexterity with which they moved seemed at odds with their size. Cas moved them like they weighed nothing at all, moved them just like he moved his arms. In the firelight, the white and tawny browns looked even softer, but it was the first time Dean had seen them in full and he caught sight of a few flecks of black in the feathers closer to the angel's body that he hadn’t been able to see earlier. 

With a groan, Cas' arms fell back to his sides and his wings pulled back in and both brothers were left gaping.

“Jesus, Cas, your wings are huge!” Sam gushed. “What are they like six feet?”

“Seven,” Castiel corrected as he turned from the fire and took a few steps toward the creek.

“A fourteen-foot wingspan,” Sam mumbled, sounding a little awestruck. “Incredible.”

Cas disappeared into the wall of darkness beyond the firelight and a few seconds later Dean heard the sounds of splashing in the creek. 

“The hell is he doing?” he asked aloud, as if Sam might somehow know the answer.

“Man, his wings are...incredible,” Sam continued as if he hadn't spoken. “I wonder why he’s never had them out before.”

“Probably because he'd be carted off to Area 51 by the government,” Dean said, giving his brother a sidelong look.

“I always thought angels had white wings but it just seems like one more thing humans got wrong,” Sam huffed a little laugh. “I wonder if different angels have different colors. Cas' kind of match his personality, though, don't you think?” 

Dean grunted, unwilling to really examine too closely just how he felt about Cas' wings.

Sam gave him a curious look but, thankfully, before he could say anything else, Castiel suddenly came striding back into the sphere of firelight and for a split-second Dean saw the flames reflected in his blue eyes, wings folded loose by his sides, and he had to look away. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that Cas wasn't human. He'd learned to walk and talk like one so well that it often slipped Dean's mind. But now it was impossible not to remember that he was a completely different species. Not that it bothered him, it was just strange having known Cas so long and having never seen this part of him; this part that was more _him_ than the face Dean had come to know and trust after all these years. It was like...like...actually he couldn't think of a comparison but for some reason it was bothering him and he found himself wondering – like Sam – why the angel had never shown his wings before.

Cas spent a lot of time in the bunker these days and if Dean didn't know any better he would say that it was likely the most safe and obsessively warded place in North America. Surely having a part of your body in another dimension all the time would get uncomfortable, so why did Cas never stretch his wings while he was there? His stomach sank. Was it _them_ the angel didn't trust? Was he worried they might find it too strange? Or pose a threat? 

He felt like a heel when he remembered he and Sam had spent the last ten minutes making fun of how expressive Cas' wings were and how the angel had immediately tried to flatten his feathers back down. Dean made fun of Cas a lot, he realised then, and sure it was all harmless but…he wondered if the cumulative effect of all that good-natured teasing might be one of the reasons Cas wasn’t comfortable being himself around them.

The only reason he could even see Cas' wings now was because he didn't have a choice in the matter. How exposed must the angel be feeling? Dean was sure he couldn't understand what that must be like. And they looked fragile. Long and sleek, probably great for manoeuvring quickly in the air…but how easily could they be injured? Was having them out as dangerous as, say, a human walking around with their heart on the outside of their body? Or was it more like walking around naked?

Either way, it must be unpleasant to have the _choice_ to bare yourself taken away.

He looked up at Cas, suddenly worried and feeling like a total jerk. The angel was still standing, close to the fire, and was gazing out into the dark as if he could actually see through it. He probably could, Dean supposed. As he watched, Cas' wings twitched a few times at his back before he opened them a little, curling them forward as he took another step closer to the fire and Dean realized he was trying to catch the heat. He was cold.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing over at Sam and knowing that his brother would raze the hell out of him for asking what he was about to ask.

“Hey Cas, how come you've never shown your wings before?”

They both looked sharply at him, clearly surprised by the question, and Dean was dismayed when said wings retracted, laying tight against his back once more.

“The reason I took a vessel in the first place was to be able to walk among humans unnoticed,” Cas told him, his words slow like he was trying to work out what Dean _wasn't_ saying. “I thought people might find it...unnerving to see a human with wings.”

“Well yeah, but I mean like when you're in the bunker with us. It must get uncomfortable, having them stuck in another plane of existence.” 

“It does,” Cas conceded, looking back out across the rolling foothills. His left wing twitched.

“So why have you never -”

“As I mentioned before,” Cas interrupted him sharply, “You both need to get some sleep. We have a long walk ahead of us tomorrow.” He looked down at Dean and his eyes were much softer than his voice. “Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning,” he turned and walked back into the night, this time parallel to the creek. “I'm going to scout the area.”

Then he was gone.

Sam released a breath and looked to his brother with wide eyes. “You touched on a nerve there, I think.”

Dean scoffed, “Yeah, no kidding.” He felt even worse then before he'd asked the question, sure now that the reason Cas had never let his wings out even in the safety of the bunker had something to do with them.

The brothers settled down with their flimsy leather bags for pillows, rolling a bit closer to the fire as the temperature continued to drop, and tried their best to sleep through their first night on a new planet.

* * *

Apparently Cas hadn't been kidding when he said they would be heading out at first light because when Dean woke to a hand on his shoulder and a gravely voice calling his name, he could barely make out a patch of sky just starting to creep over the distant mountains that was slightly less black than the sky above it.

He was about to ask what time it was when he realized it didn't really matter and with a gargantuan effort, he heaved himself into a sitting position. 

The fire was still going strong – Cas had obviously kept it stoked through the night – and Dean huddled closer to it, holding his hands out towards the heat, surprised he hadn’t woken given that shivers were now making his teeth clack together. He’d just been that exhausted he supposed.

All down his arms he could feel his tight muscles, sore with overuse from dragging Cas across a field for an hour, protesting his sudden state of consciousness.

“Fucking freezing,” Sam grumbled beside him, his hair was a mess and he was giving the fire a rather sleepy glare, arms folded tightly across his torso.

“The sooner we get moving, the sooner you will warm up,” Cas encouraged, already starting to kick dirt over the fire.

Sam got to his feet, arms still crossed and a scowl etched into his face, and stomped off towards the creek, presumably to splash some water on his face.

Dean chuckled, getting to his feet as well, and watched as Cas tracked Sam's progress to the water. 

“Sam is always up at sunrise,” the angel remarked, turning to look at Dean with a confused frown. “Why does he get up so early all the time when he clearly dislikes it?”

“Because, Cas, Sam is one of those people that likes to _pretend_ they're a morning person so that they can feel superior.” He laughed when Cas only looked more confused.

“I don't understand. Humans who like to wake up early are considered better than those that don't?”

“Yeah, but only by the ones that are getting up early.”

Cas looked like he was rapidly losing interest in their conversation, his eyes rolling up as they so often did when he learned some strange new thing humans did that made no sense to him.

By the time Dean had followed Sam down to the water to splash some on his face it was already getting lighter out and the trio set out across the rolling hills once more. Cas had them following the creek, insisting that it was flowing from East to West after glancing at the sky and turning his face into the wind. How that told him the directional flow of the water, Dean didn't know and was too tired to ask. The last thing he needed before sunrise was a twenty-minute lecture on what was probably some kind of obscure physics.

Whiterun, Castiel told them, was directly East of where they were – though Dean wondered if the angel was as confident in the knowledge of their whereabouts as he pretended. Not that he could call him on it if he wasn't. He had a shaky understanding of how to use Earth's sun to navigate, but here? All bets were off. 

They hadn't been walking long when the sun crested the mountains to the North, quickly burning through the cloud cover that had settled overnight and casting soft, golden tones and long, reaching shadows over the landscape in front of them.

Dean couldn't stop looking around, trying to take in as much information as possible. The mountains stretched on as far as he could see; though right now that wasn't far given that the terrain was dotted with shallow peaks and valleys and huge stones that looked like they'd broken free of the mountains and were making their glacial escape into the valleys below. There were plants he didn't recognise – not that he'd ever claimed to know much about plants in the first place – and maybe it was the fact that he _knew_ he was on another planet, but even though the landscape looked normal, it was still glaringly obvious that it was _different_. 

As the sun – thankfully there was only one – climbed higher and the clouds slowly drifted away, Dean felt his gaze being pulled from the surrounding landscape to the angel in front of him. Cas was leading their little caravan and Sam was bringing up the rear, so Dean was free to stare all he wanted without feeling like _too_ much of a creep about it.

Maybe if he stared long enough the sight of the wings would become more normal faster.

Unlike last night, in the delicate light of the fire and the fragility of their new surroundings, in the morning light, there was a lethal quality to them that was veiled only by their sleekness. The feathers were soft and so smooth that they almost looked rigid. But every now and then a few would catch on the breeze and flutter wildly before snapping cleanly back in to place, showcasing their flexibility. The angel’s wings, when looked at as a whole, had a deceptive strength to them that gave Dean hope that they weren’t as breakable as they had initially seemed. Like punching a velvet pillow and breaking your hand on the hidden stone underneath.

Or like when he'd seen that innocent little barn owl shift on it's post and noticed its razor-sharp talons.

What Sam had said about Cas' wings matching his personality suddenly made a lot more sense. Cas had always been deceptively soft and gentle on the outside...until he brought out his claws and you realized too late just how lethal he was underneath it all.

As their hike wore on, Dean's stomach started to remind him that he hadn't eaten in a very long time and the sound of the water running cold and crisp beside them was a good reminder that he hadn't had a drink in a while either.

“Cas!” Sam called from the back. “This water safe to drink?” Sam asked, already crouching down by the edge of the creek and cupping his hands under the surface.

Cas turned and glanced at the water. “Yes. It's run-off from the mountains and is purer that what you drink in the Bunker.”

Dean rushed to the edge of the water beside Sam and the two of them spent a few minutes gulping down as much as they could stomach. The water was icy cold and did a good job of quenching their thirst and quelling their hunger, but that wouldn’t last for long.

“Listen Cas, we gotta eat soon,” he told the angel as he and Sam climbed back up the shallow bank. “Too much more hiking across this kind of terrain without any fuel and we're gonna start slowing you down big time.”

Cas looked concerned and Dean quickly explained. “We're ok for a bit, but how much farther do you think it is?”

In an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty, Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth and looked over his shoulder in the direction they had been traveling, flicking out and then resettling his right wing.

“It shouldn't be much farther,” he told them, but he seemed less sure than before. “Maybe another hour if we keep this pace. Are you sure you're both alright? Do you need to stop and rest?”

The brothers both shook their heads. 

“No, we're good, Cas. We'll let you know if we need to stop, ok?” Sam said.

Cas looked to be about to say something else but stopped with his mouth hanging open, his gaze settling straight ahead.

“Did you hear that?” he asked them.

“Hear what?” Dean felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he strained to hear what Cas had. But there was nothing to be heard other than the occasional gust of wind blowing by and a few early birds chirping from somewhere in the clumps of grass and bushes around them.

“It sounded like...an impact tremor,” Cas looked confused about what his own ears were trying to tell him and cocked his head to the side as if to hear better. With his wings now visible, the action had a distinctly bird-like quality that Dean had never really noticed before. “Can you feel it in the ground?”

They were standing in one of the dips in the rolling hills, unable to see over the rise on either side of them. In most places the ground tapered down towards the river and if he turned around, Dean could see a bit farther back from where they'd come between either bank of the creek. But where they were now offered no such line of sight.

“I still don't hear anything,” Sam said, glancing around.

Cas turned and moved up the shallow hill in front of them, crouching low, his wings falling down over his arms so that they were not the first thing to crest the hill and give away his position.

The brothers held their breath, watching while Cas peeked over the tall grass at the top. When the angel suddenly straightened and his wings relaxed at his sides, both brothers sighed in relief and rushed forward when Cas gestured for them.

“Look!” Cas was smiling as he pointed down into another shallow valley.

Nothing could have prepared Dean for what he saw when he crested the hill.

“Are – are those _mammoths_?!” Sam squeaked.

Dean's eyes didn't know what to look at because while the five mammoths were incredible – monstrous in size with shaggy brown fur and long white tusks painted with intricate designs – there were also two huge, _massive_ , men walking among them that stood several feet taller, wearing nothing but tattered loincloths and some strange looking tattoos covering much of their greyish skin. Both of them had what looked like mammoth femur bones clutched in their hands and slung over their shoulders, one end solid and bulbous and obviously intended to absolutely destroy whatever they were swinging at.

The giants and the mammoths were walking together in a herd and Dean numbly wondered if the huge fluffy elephants were more like cattle or like dogs.

Dean looked over at his brother at the same time Sam looked to him and they both snapped their jaws shut.

“The city is just over there, can you see it?” Cas suddenly declared, pointing well off into the distance.

It took considerable effort for Dean to tear his eyes off the _fucking giants_ at the bottom of the hill and squint into the midday haze. Sure enough, he could just make out the fuzzy but unmistakable silhouette of a man-made structure standing tall and proud on top of a hill just to the south of a particularly gigantic mountain. 

Their destination was within sight but it was easy to tell it would take more than an hour to reach it.

“Ok, the first thing we're doing when we get to that inn is _eating_ ,” he told Cas sternly.

The angel offered one of his half smiles. “Of course,” he started down the hill and the brothers followed. “The giants won't bother us as long as we don't get too close to them or their fire,” he told them confidently.

He led them off to the right, hugging a large rock formation and closely watching the heard of mammoths and the shepherding giants, who watched them in return. When the giants slowed to a stop and turned, sliding the massive clubs off their shoulders threateningly, Dean's stomach dropped a few inches. 

“Uh…they looked pissed.”

“Ignore them,” Cas said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They're just making sure we keep moving.”

Well it was definitely working because Dean started walking that much faster and heard Sam's footsteps quicken behind him. When they came to the edge of the rocks they’d been creeping along, Cas veered abruptly off to the left towards a stand of lone pine trees and Dean was confused about the sudden change in direction until he reached the end of the rock face and the roar of a very large fire hit his ears. Off to his left and no more than twenty feet away, there was a raging bonfire and its flames were flickering up around the same height as the heads of the two giants that were tending it.

This close, Dean’s brain quickly took in their grotesque appearance with much more detail than he had from the top of the hill. Their skin was the same color grey he had seen on many corpses and for their size, they were strangely emaciated, their ribs visible from their abdomen all the way up to their collar bones, as if the skin was straining to cover everything. They were both bald but had long, scruffy beards. All down their arms and legs, there were dark tattoos of swirling lines and dots that matched the ones painted on their mammoths’ trunks.

Dean may have been able to take in more, but apparently a few seconds was already too much loitering for their liking and an almighty roar burst from the throat of the closest giant and then both of them slid the clubs from their shoulders and smashed them into the ground in warning.

“ _Son of a –”_

He was pretty sure the only reason Sam didn't run right into the back of him is because they both moved equally fast, dashing to catch up to Cas. Even so, it appeared they hadn't moved fast enough for the giants' because a second, somehow even angrier, roar rose up behind them, followed by the sound of massive feet stomping the earth and – oh, there was that impact tremor Cas had been talking about.

Dean's heart jumped into his throat when he realized the stomping feet were getting closer. It was chasing them! He didn't even look over his shoulder to make sure, he just flat out sprinted right past Cas – seeing Sam blow past the angel on the other side, who called an inquiry after both of them, sounding calmly perplexed.

It was a full fifteen seconds later before Dean realized the sound of Death stomping after them had stopped and both he and Sam came to a stop at the same time. They looked back, half expecting to see Cas facing off with two enraged giants.

What they saw instead was Castiel following them at a leisurely stroll and both giants still standing over by their bonfire.

Dean's legs wobbled dangerously when the adrenaline left him in a rush.

“I told you to ignore them,” Cas said as he caught up. The angel was making a very solid effort not to smile, one corner of his mouth twisted down with the strain of it.

“Shut up,” Dean gasped, still trying to catch his breath, but heat was pushing steadily into his face.

Like the angel he was, Cas mercifully didn't comment and stepped between the puffing brothers, leading the way once more and, after a brief, shared moment of embarrassment, they followed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Michaela for beta reading :D <3

Just over three hours later, the three of them were – finally – walking up a patchy cobblestone road to the city gates. From the outside at least, Whiterun looked like a pretty simply little town. 

A town straight out of the medieval age.

“Cas, you sure you didn’t just send us back in time?” Sam only sounded like he was half joking as he asked the question out of the corner of his mouth, as if worried there was someone that might hear him and take offense.

Cas looked pretty offended didn’t comment or answer.

Besides them, the only other people they had seen so far were the two guards up ahead, standing rigid on either side of the two massive wooden doors that led into the city.

The doors were plain looking; sturdy wooden boards held together by large iron nails and each door had a large iron ring to pull them open. On either side of the doors, stone walls ran out and, presumably, encircled the entire city. Stone walls that looked like they had taken many hits over the years but had never been properly patched back up. Chunks of the walls were missing higher up in some places, and some of the little slat windows had been filled up with caved-in rubble that had been left there so long that moss had covered a good deal of the debris.

As they approached the gates, Dean tried and failed not to stare too hard at the first people he was seeing on an alien planet. They looked…normal. Like people, at least. The only odd thing about them was their clothing, which, again, was giving Dean some serious medieval vibes, but it was hard to make out any details from this distance. The most disconcerting thing was their helmets, which covered their entire head and left only two black holes, which Dean chose to believe had very normal eyes behind them.

Each of them were clutching a shield in their left hand, impressive arm muscles popping under the weight, leaving their right ones free to grab the broadsword hanging on their hips. If such a need arose.

Cas whispered as they drew nearer, “Stay behind me and let me do the talking.”

Dean shared a relieved look with his brother. He had no idea how to talk to these people. Did they even speak English? He and Sam would both need some time to just sit back and observe before they would feel comfortable trying to blend in or even talk to people. 

Then a thought occurred to him like a punch to the face and his hand darted out to grab Cas by the elbow, jerking him back a few feet.

“Your _wings_ , Cas.”

The angel glanced over his shoulder, looking mildly concerned, “What’s wrong with my wings?” He lifted his left arm and spread his left wing a little, looking for whatever he thought Dean had seen.

Sam leaned over to roam his eyes over Cas’ back, frowning.

“No, your wings are fine! I mean how are they gonna react to them? They look human, what if they freak out over seeing a dude with wings just strolling up the road?”

Though the guards had been watching them this whole time and had made no move to draw their weapons. Perhaps they were just waiting until the trio was closer to strike.

“Dean, it's alright,” Cas reassured him, patting his hand and pulling his arm free. “Nirn has an abundance of different intelligent species that don’t look at all human. Unlike Earth. Beings that are very clearly of a different species are the norm here. Even those men standing at the door are not the same kind of human that you and Sam are.”

Here Sam opened his mouth, very clearly having an urgent question, but Cas ploughed on, giving the younger brother a quick glance. “Besides which, while I am fairly sure no angels have been here since the Oblivion Crisis, between the strong tradition of storytelling to pass history down to every new generation and the importance of the event itself…it just won’t be a problem.”

Cas looked over his shoulder and Dean followed his gaze, peeking between Cas' profile and the curve of his wing. His heart skipped in his chest when he saw the guards still looking right back, their faces hidden within their helmets, making it impossible to decipher their attitude.

“That was a really long time ago Cas, what if something has changed?” Sam argued, his eyes flicking back to the guards.

But the angel merely shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I doubt that it has but we will have to wait and see. The past remains much more present to the people here than it does on earth.”

Cas turned sharply, a clear end to the discussion, and the brothers scrambled to follow, trying not to look too nervous under the weight of the guards' critical gaze.

“Good morning,” Cas greeted, in English, and sounding far more at ease than Dean felt.

From within the black holes in their helmets, the guards stared. For a second, neither of them moved and Dean felt his muscles coiling, ready for a fight.

Over their heads, the mid-day wind had picked up and was buffeting the top of the city walls.

“You three look like you could use a cup of mead and a warm bed,” the guard to the right of the door suddenly said, sounding sincere. “You folks ever been to Whiterun before?”

“We haven't,” Cas answered, “But we were passing close by and I'd heard rumors there was an inn here.”

“The Bannered Mare!” the same guard cried jovially, he slapped his thigh and chuckled. “That’s right! You'll find the best mead in all of Skyrim there. Fresh from Honningbrew Meadery just across the river! If you meet her, tell Ysolda that Jervar says hello, you might even get a free pint out of it,” he chuckled.

“Thank you. We will pass on your message,” promised Cas.

He moved to the doors, grabbed one of the iron rings, and pulled the massive wooden gate open as if it weighed nothing at all, earning a look from both guards. As he passed by, Dean tried to take in as much as possible about Jervar as he could without openly stopping and staring.

He was considerably more well dressed than the three of them. He wore a chainmail tunic, over which was a vest with overlapping leather scales. A swatch of mustard yellow canvas fabric wrapped around his shoulders and down his front, held in place by some thin leather straps, likely to help ward off the chilly night air. His boots looked sturdy and were lined with fur that looked like it might have been white once.

The guard gave him a friendly nod and Dean returned it with a tight smile and then passed through the gates to the city.

The three of them stopped just inside the doors and another guard moved behind them to pull it closed while they gawked.

Well, while Dean and Sam gawked. Cas just wasn't the kind of person to gawk.

They were standing on a small hump of a bridge that crossed a shallow mote flowing around the base of the city walls. Though Dean supposed it really couldn’t be called a mote. It was on the _inside_ of the city, for one thing, and for another, it barely looked deep enough to get his ankles wet. He wondered what the purpose of it even was.

The sudden metallic bang of a hammer on metal pulled Dean’s gaze to the right. A woman in a deep red dress and a heavy black apron stood beside an open pit with stones piled neatly all around it in a circle, heat waves distorting the air above it. Judging by the sandstone wheel, tanning rack, and metal working bench nearby, Dean supposed it was an actual, real life, blacksmith. The forge pit was nestled up against one wall of a large building and the grey stones that had been stacked as a back-splash to keep the sparks from traveling too far seemed to be part of that wall. Thick wooden pillars embedded in the face of the shop held up a green shingled roof. The woman was pounding a sheet of metal on the anvil beside the pit, the giant iron hammer swinging through the air again and again. When she stood to wipe the sweat from her brow, Dean noticed her face was dirty; positively covered in soot and dust. She caught him staring and offered a small smile, her light brown, almost golden, eyes popping dramatically against her dark skin.

Stretching out before them, a cobblestone street curved and bowed between a scattering of similar looking buildings and houses. On either side of the road sat sturdy iron fire bowls, presumably to light the way at night and to lend some warmth during the day. Though it was noon and the sun was now high overhead, there was a subtle nip in the air that left Dean thinking of the beginnings of fall. Father up the road, he could see a man in a shabby tunic and pants huddled close to one of those fire bowls, his dirty hands held over the flames. 

Here in the shelter of the city walls, the smoke from the bowls and from every chimney drifted lazily into the air and hovered over the buildings like a threadbare blanket. Hardy looking grasses had broken through the cobblestone in a few places and thick, snaking vines grew unchecked here and there, climbing their way up the sides of houses or dangling over the edge of stone retaining walls. 

A few people could be seen walking through the narrow roads; an old lady in well worn robes and a pale, drawn expression. A man in a leather cap shuffling away from them with an armload of firewood. Two guards like the ones at the gates strolling, unhurried and unconcerned.

Cas, seemingly having decided the brothers had had enough time to stare around with their mouths hanging open, started up the street and, as he followed Sam and the angel, Dean's head turned this way and that, trying to take in everything at once. 

The houses were simple, a mixture of wood and stone, but what the architecture lacked in imagination, the doors more than made up for. Each door on every house had intricate and elaborate carvings that had been painstakingly crafted. Swirls and knots in the wood led the eyes naturally around the pleasing display. Some doors even had extra metal work added to the design. 

Dean could have stopped and appreciated the handiwork of every door they passed, but Sam and Cas were already well ahead of him and there was a little girl running towards him down the road, a wide grin on her face, brown hair flapping wildly behind her. On her hip, there was a small wooden sword that looked like it had seen many battles. 

She sailed right past Castiel and his impressive wings but staggered to a halt when she saw Dean staring at her.

“I'm not scared of you!” she insisted, glaring up at him, ferocious as an angry kitten. 

He blinked down at her, confused. “Uh...that's great.” 

“Boys, girls, dogs, elders. There's _nobody_ I wont fight!” she bellowed to anyone who would listen as she took off running again.

Dean picked up the pace and caught up to his companions, glancing over his shoulder. But the little girl was gone, probably off declaring her bravery in another part of the city. She had seemed like a perfectly normal – if somewhat hyper – non-alien child.

They'd reached what looked like a small market. A few stands with vegetables and meat on display were positioned around a wide-mouthed well and there were people milling about between the stalls. Dean saw a woman dressed in deep blue robes with an impeccably groomed grey fur shawl bartering with an ancient looking woman behind a display of silver jewelry. 

Next to them, a young man in a fur cap and pale green tunic was heaving a huge hunk of meat into the wooden cart of woman in a plain green dress. A boy that looked no older than eleven or so cut his way through the small market space, a big grey dog that looked a lot like an Irish Wolfhound lumbering along behind him. When the dog stopped to sniff curiously at the meat stall, the boy whistled sharply, and the dog reluctantly followed him down the street.

Standing by the well, two men in dirt-streaked clothing were chatting, each with a roughly carved wooden cup in each hand. One was blocking the sun from his eyes with his free hand and taking a sip of whatever steaming liquid was in his cup while he listened to his companion tell him a story. After a moment, they both erupted with laughter. They looked to be thoroughly enjoying their lunch break.

Dean swallowed, a very strange emotion welling in his chest as he took in the market and its patrons. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but it left his throat feeling tight. These were just…normal people. Going about their lives, on their planet, under their sun. Children playing and people working and taking lunch breaks and chatting and laughing and buying food for their families…

Life was just casually existing here, just the same as it did on Earth. These people had their own set of problems and their own little moments of reprieve. For the first time, Dean felt like the alien. Everything around him was so familiar but also so foreign. 

Cas, understandably, was having no such quiet revelations and walked right through the middle of the market, drawing a few curious looks but nothing like he would have on Earth. He kept his wings folded tight, angling himself this way and that to slip past people without touching them. 

Sam, Dean was glad to note, had also been staring around at the market and its people, a very deep frown pulling his eyebrows together. Dean nudged his brother’s arm and the two of them turned to follow the angel to the other side of the market. On their right they passed two proper shops; one with a weight scale on the wooden sign hanging over the door and another with a mortar and pestle.

Both brothers paid the shops no mind. Dean wasn’t sure he could contemplate any more new, but also pretty much exactly the same as Earth, things for today.

He needed a drink.

Dean caught the eye of another guard standing in the path between the two shops. As they walked, the blank mask didn't so much as twitch to follow their progress and a second later Dean heard the guard let out a long, bored sigh.

“Finally!” Sam exclaimed. “Food!”

Dean looked back around and saw Cas climbing the stairs to – his eyes darted to the sign beside the door – The Bannered Mare. Just in front of the angel, a man so large and muscular he made Cas look small in comparison was pushing the double-doors open and Dean blinked at the massive hammer strapped to his well-armored back, the handle of which was reaching as far up over his shoulder as Cas' wings did.

When they pushed through the door, the first thing Dean noticed was the massive square fire pit in the middle of the room, with four wooden pillars at each corner. It took up half the room, sunken down into the floor so that the stones that lined it were only a few inches higher than the floor. A terrible design to have in a bar, Dean thought, where anyone could accidentally stumble in. 

The smell of wood burning mingled with the mouth-watering scent of a home cooked meal and Dean felt his neglected stomach rumble angrily, demanding attention.

On the far side of the pit, a man in a brown tunic and a thick leather belt and green pants was plucking away on a strange looking string instrument that looked like a double-necked violin, and a few people were sitting on benches and chairs around the roaring fire with rugged metal steins in their hands. A few small tables with chairs were scattered along either wall and to the right of the fire pit, Dean saw the long wooden bar with a few empty stools placed in front of it. 

The smell of good food curled under Dean’s nostrils like a siren song and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to shut out all the new things he was trying to process and just…breathe for a moment. He let the comforting sounds of background chatter, a crackling fire, the clinking of dishes and the warmth of a tavern wash over him and counted to five.

When he opened his eyes, he let the calm settled into his chest, and saw that Cas had crossed the room and was standing at the bar. Dean was relived to see that no one even gave him a second look. 

The brothers took a seat on a stool to either side of him, taking one last look around the room and the patrons within it, before turning to the woman behind the bar. She was thin, with olive tone skin, dark, warm eyes and rich red hair pulled back in a pony tail. She looked tired, but her smile was sincere.

Cas threw a glance over his shoulder, folding his wings tight to keep them out of the way of people trying to pass behind him, and then offered the woman a small smile.

“What can I get for you gentlemen? Are you hungry or thirsty?” she flipped the cloth she had been wiping down the bar with over her shoulder. “Or both?”

She had a soft voice but the lines around her eyes spoke of a hard life and she had an accent Dean had never heard before – not surprising – sounding like something between French and Russian. It was strange but melodic, but then again maybe that was just her voice.

“Both,” Castiel answered and her eyes lit up.

“What would you like?” she asked. “We have some Eidar cheese and salmon steaks. Baked potatoes and marinated Hoarker loaf,” she rattled off the menu choices to them, mirroring Cas and leaning on the bar.

Behind Cas’ wings, Dean motioned for Sam to lean over so he could whisper, “What the _hell_ is a _Hoarker_?”

Sam snorted and slapped a hand to his mouth. If he'd had a mouthful of something, it would have just gone everywhere and the brothers snickered as the lady behind the bar kept rattling off both familiar and strange sounding food items.

“Saadia even had time to bake some deserts today,” she went on, “If you're in the mood for something sweeter we have some boiled cream treats and fresh apple pie.”

Dean's head snapped up so fast he may have pulled something. “Apple pie?” he asked, his voice sounding strangled. He ignored the burning sensation of Cas and Sam’s stare.

The woman smiled and nodded. “I take it you'll be wanting a slice?”

“I'll be wanting three,” Dean corrected her seriously.

She laughed and then nodded again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alright then. What else can I get you?”

“I'll have that Hoarker loaf,” Sam said, shrugging when Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

Apparently, his brother was feeling extra adventurous. Though, Dean supposed, they were on an alien planet. If there was a better time to sample some new culinary delights, he couldn’t think of it.

“And for you?” she asked, looking to Cas. 

“The salmon, please,” he rumbled.

“Ale?”

“We'll take three of those too,” Dean said quickly, before Sam or Cas could decline.

“And three beds, if you have them,” Castiel added. 

Her brown eyes flicked over his shoulder to his wings before coming back to his face, her smile gentling. “We've only got two beds right now. But one of them is big enough to fit two people.”

“We'll take them,” Cas said at once.

She reached out across the bar and Cas took her hand. “My name is Hulda,” she told them. “If you need anything else, just let me know. You three take a seat at that table over there and I’ll bring the food when it’s ready.” She turned to the girl sweeping behind the counter. “Saadia, dear, come here a moment...” 

Hulda beckoned the dark-haired woman to follow her and the two of them crossed the room and disappeared into what was obviously a kitchen, from what Dean could see from the bar. 

The three of them settled around the small round table, wedged in the corner between the entrance and the kitchen. Sam ended up with the seat that put his back to the door, which he didn’t seem too happy about. But it was better than sitting with his back to the room, like Dean was because Cas had moved to the spot on the right that left his back to the wall. He stared Dean down like a marble statue when the hunter looked like he might try to fight for the spot.

Dean sighed, admitting defeat. He looked down at the table top, well worn by years of use, and then over to where a few candles sat at the edge of the table that was in the corner, offering some dim light. The chairs were only simple wood with woven seats but he and Sam both sunk down into them like they were made of leather and memory foam.

His position at the table now secure, Cas took a moment to contemplate the third chair before he picked it up and placed it against the wall, out of the way, and grabbed a stool from a nearby table, settling down on it instead, ruffling his wings a little before folding them down tight to his back again. 

“Man, that pie can't come fast enough,” Dean complained as his stomach growled loudly. He wasn’t just hungry, he was ravenous, and he could tell by the way Sam kept looking in the direction of the kitchen that he was too. He didn’t feel the least bit guilty about having three pieces of pie as his dinner. He probably could have eaten three whole pies himself and still not gained back all the calories he’d lost trekking across the foothills.

It was hard to believe they had only been here for less than two full days.

“Yeah, I don't even care what a Hoarker is, I'm drooling at the thought of anything close to edible,” Sam said. Then he looked over to Cas, who had thus far been silently observing the tavern’s patrons. “How come you're eating, Cas? Does it have something to do with being cut off from the etheric plane?” Sam asked the question casually enough, but underneath it, Dean could tell he was concerned.

To be fair, Dean had been wondering the same thing since the angel had asked for the salmon. The only time they'd seen Cas eat was when he was so weak he was nearly human.

“I could go without,” Cas told them, sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders. His left wing spread a bit as if he’d been intending to stretch it out, but it bumped the chair he’d put against the wall earlier and he snapped it back in again. Looking annoyed, Cas ruffled his feathers tightly and resettled his wings for what seemed like the tenth time since they’d entered the inn. “But consuming calories helps fuel my body so that I don’t have to use my grace to do it.”

“Oh. Makes sense,” Sam said, looking relieved. 

“I will be sleeping occasionally also.” Cas offered them a tight smile. “Just so you know not to worry.”

“Why are you so twitchy, man?” Dean finally asked when Cas shifted on his stool again.

The question earned him a mildly exasperated look, “I don’t like not being able to stretch my wings.” His head snapped to the left as a man wearing a thick canvas apron walked from the kitchen, carrying a plate with some break and cheese. Cas leaned away ever so slightly, even though the man was nowhere near close enough to even brush against him, and folded his wings down tight once more. “And I feel as if I am…in the way.”

Dean fished around for something reassuring to say but came up empty handed. He obviously couldn’t relate but, glancing behind him and around the room he tried to imagine how he would feel if he took up twice as much space as he normally did.

The walls suddenly seemed much closer. He turned back to try and offer some kind of reassurance to the angel, but just then, on the other side of the room, the guy with the string instrument started singing, his voice a little off key in a way that suggested some people might have been paying for his songs with ale.

“ _There once was a hero name Ragnar the Red,_

 _Who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead!_ ”

Several people staggered to their feet then and crowded around the large fire pit with drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces.

“God, it's barely lunch time and these people are wasted,” Dean observed with a grin. “I like it here.”

“ _And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,_

_As he told of bold battles and gold he had made!”_

A few people started clapping along with the song, some began to sway from side to side in their seats and Sam visibly flinched when someone swayed a little too heavily in the direction of the fire pit.

_“But then he went quiet did Ragnar the red,_

_When he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said...”_

Saadia and Hulda suddenly appeared with their arms full of plates of food and mugs of ale and Sam, Dean and Cas all reached out to help take some of the items and set them down.

“Enjoy,” Hulda told them between the bards singing and then left them to their meal.

The plates were simple and carved from wood and the goblets were forged clay painted blue. None of which Dean even noticed as he shoved two forkfuls of pie into his mouth one after the other. The sweet, sweet desert tasted a million times better than he ever remembered and his stomach growled, greedy for more. He obliged, finishing the first slice in mere seconds and trying his best to pause and savour the tartness of the apples, the heat of the cinnamon and the perfect flakiness of the crust.

“ _Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead!_

 _Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!_ ”

“Jeez,” Sam muttered, not looking at the bard but at his plate while he tried to spear a vegetable on a fork with only two prongs. “Violent.”

Dean paused in his shoveling, looking at the vegetable Sam was chasing across his plate. “'ell is tha'?” he asked around the pie in his mouth.

Sam's face brightened when he managed to stab it, holding it up for Dean and Cas to inspect with him.

“Leeks! Can you believe it? We're on another planet in another galaxy and they have one of the same vegetables that we do! Ha!” he shoved the steamed, butter-coated plant into his mouth, chewing around a smile.

“ _And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel,_

_As the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!_

_And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooore..._

 _...when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!_ ”

Boisterous applause and a few encouraging whistles followed the end of the song and then everyone sat back down as the bard started strumming out a more melodic tune, meant to fill in the background noise of the chatting and laughing, while people went to refill their cups.

Dean was at last starting to feel less ravenous as he tucked into the third piece of pie but when he glanced over at Sam, he froze with the fork halfway to his mouth.

“You doin' alright there, Sam?” he asked, only just holding back laughter.

Sam was chewing thoughtfully – and bravely – on a piece of the Hoarker loaf, his expression stuck somewhere between confusion and uncertainty, like he wasn't sure if he should be grossed out or not.

The meat was steak-like in appearance, though it was cut in a rectangular shape.

Cas watched the younger brother placidly, chewing his salmon mechanically.

“This...is such a mind fuck,” Sam eventually muttered, swallowing the meat with a grimace. He looked between his brother and Cas. “It's the same texture as steak but...” he poked at the slab of mystery meat with his fork. It looked like it had been cooked to perfection. “....but it has a sort of fishy taste.”

Dean pulled a face, trying to imagine biting into a steak and tasting fish on his tongue. Yeah. Definite mind fuck.

Sam picked his way through the rest of it, though, obviously so hungry that he could forgive the taste. By the last bite he even looked like he might be enjoying it. 

Cas had barely eaten half his salmon and the roasted potatoes on the side before he stacked his plate on top of Dean’s empty one and picked up his mug of ale.

That was fine with Dean. He polished off the rest of the salmon an potatoes, secretly glad the angel didn’t have much of an appetite. The pie hadn’t filled him up nearly enough. 

Once the three of them had finished eating and both the food and the ale was settling in their stomachs, they felt, if possible, even more exhausted than they had before. It wasn’t long before they were pushing away from the table and thinking of a soft bed.

Dean’s legs ached and he knew tomorrow his muscles were going to be sore from all the hiking.

As they got to their feet, Hulda appeared out of nowhere.

“How was it?” she asked, stacking the empty plates.

“ _So. Good_.” Dean answered earnestly, rubbing his hand over his stomach for emphasis.

She laughed, wiping her hands on her apron.

“How much do we owe you?” Cas asked her, his tongue darting out to taste the last of the ale he'd just swallowed. He seemed more at ease now and had relaxed his wings minutely.

“Don't you want to see if the rooms are to your liking first?” she asked him with a playful smile.

“I am sure they are better than the street,” the angel parried with a small smile of his own and if Dean wasn’t sure he was literally incapable of it, he might have thought the angel was flirting.

“Oh, I don't think you'd have a hard time finding a warm bed with a face like yours,” Hulda said brazenly.

Dean felt something jump in his stomach when he saw the little feathers along the leading edges of Cas' wings lift, puffing out. Hulda saw it too, if her victorious smile was anything to go by.

“I'm just teasing you, dear,” she eventually told him, her expression softening once more. “Follow me and I will show you the rooms. Then we can settle the bill.”

Dean opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn't sure, but he didn't manage to make a sound before Cas threw him a pointed look, a flush of redness high on his cheeks as he snapped. 

“Not a word, Dean.”

Sam was snickering behind him, Cas turned to follow Hulda, and Dean was left feeling quite confused, standing in the middle of the tavern with his mouth hanging open like a moron until Sam shoved him forward and he stumbled after Cas and the innkeeper, following them up a flight of squeaky wooden steps to the second floor.

The rooms turned out to be nothing special, but there was a bed with blankets and pillows in each and they were all so exhausted that it seemed like paradise. Cas pushed rather a lot of gold coins into Hulda's hand from a small pouch he pulled out of Sam's satchel. He then took the room with the smaller bed and told the brothers to take the larger. 

It was far from the first time they’d had to share a bed, but it had been a while and Sam was quite a lot bigger now. 

As it turned out, the room was more of a loft, and next to the bed there was a wooden railing that looked down over the tavern bellow. The bed was nothing more than a wooden frame with a straw mat and the blankets were furs from some animal Dean had probably never heard of, and as soon as his head hit the lumpy pillow he was out cold, the sound of indistinct chatting and the bard still plucking away on his weird violin hovering around the edges of his consciousness.

* * *

When he woke up, the first thing he saw Cas leaning against the railing next to their bed, staring down into the tavern below.

“Did you sleep well?” the angel asked without looking at him.

“Like a rock,” Dean mumbled, his voice sleep-heavy. As he waited for the weight of an exhausted sleep to leave his limbs, he briefly considered explaining to Cas that it wasn’t good form to come in to someone else’s room while they were sleeping but decided not to waste his time. He’d only get one of those confused squints in response.

Instead, he stretched his arms and legs in opposite directions with a groan, only just catching Cas watching him with a frown. When the angel looked away, his right wing opened a little, folding back in a pectoral stretch that Dean often did when his chest was tight.

It didn’t look to have helped much, as Cas’ scowl only deepened, and Dean frowned, surprised by just how uncomfortable Cas seemed to be. His wings took up space, sure, but not _that_ much. And he couldn’t remember the angel ever looking so uncomfortable in the bunker.

Beside him, Sam began to stir. 

“What time is it?” Dean asked to fill the silence while he tried his best to ignore Sam snuffling and snorting his way into consciousness.

“Still morning,” Cas replied, finally turning away from the railing to stare at the brothers as they stood and stretched the sleep from their muscles. Cas’ wings twitched a few more times as he watched them. “Our first priority is to try and speak with the Jarl. I am hoping he will have some information on this person we are looking for and perhaps, if I can manage it, maybe he will gift us some equipment.” Dean saw Cas clutch his right hand into a loose fist unconsciously. The same hand he used to wield his angel blade.

“Wait, you didn’t bring your angel blade?” Dean asked incredulously.

Cas looked at him sharply. “Of course I have my blade. It’s part of me, I always have it. Well…except for that one time I was almost human and I couldn’t keep it with my true form because –“

“Ok,” Dean said, holding up a hand. “No physics before coffee.” 

Getting some weapons was almost at the top of his priority list. Almost. But first: breakfast.

“Oh, um, I have some potentially upsetting news, for you both, considering your obvious addiction to coffee.” Cas’ tone was gentle, almost guilty, and his wings shrunk as he folded them tightly. “The coffee plant does not exist on Nirn, which of course means…there – there is no coffee…here.”

After that small but devastating blow to moral, the trio made their way back down into the tavern.

They spent a few of their last coins on a hasty, simple breakfast of porridge and milk – Dean convinced himself it was definitely from a cow – and then left the inn with a wave from Hulda, who apparently never needed to sleep. They stepped out into the tiny market area and found it buzzing with people again with a mix of people from rich to poor.

When Cas stepped out into the morning sun, he pulled a breath through his nose and closed his eyes, reaching his hands over his head and spreading his wings out to either side. He took up a good portion of the front of the inn.

The sight of an angel, at the top of the stairs, wings spread, arms reaching up towards the sky like he was about to call down some heavenly power, understandably, brought the small market to a standstill. Nobles, commoners, merchants, everyone stopped to stare and Dean felt the hairs one the back of his neck rise in a way that had nothing to do with the chill in the morning air.

Dean’s body arranged itself into a pre-fight stance all on its own and he saw Sam do the same to his right. He hands clenched and unclenched, the ghost of a knife echoing in the palm of his very empty hand. Everyone he could see looked like civilians and probably wouldn’t be too hard to put down if the need arose. But there were guards nearby and a brawl with them meant they would have to flee the city, still weaponless, back into the surrounding foothills, and effectively lose their only real lead.

A moment later, though, Dean felt a gust of wind at his back so strong it pushed him forward and he stumbled, turning at the same time Sam did.

Cas beat his wings one last time and then folded them loosely, finally coming down the steps and breezing between the brothers as if he hadn’t just brough half a city to a standstill by having a good stretch.

With no indication that he even realized that there was twenty people staring at him, Cas, again, led the way like he'd walked through the city a hundred times already and knew exactly where to go. Though Dean supposed it was easy to guess that the Jarl would likely be in that big, fancy looking, building they'd seen sitting on the highest point in the city.

As Sam and Dean trailed behind, the market reanimated and people went about their business with only a glance or two at the retreating angel’s back.

“Damn, if Cas had done that on earth it would have brought the entire world to a standstill,” Sam muttered.

Dean grunted, feeling unnerved by the entire thing but not being able to put a finger on why. He chalked it up to being on an alien planet surrounded by alien people and customs and being totally out of his element and hurried to catch up to their one link to the only world they knew.

The morning air was crisp but not cold, and as the sun started its crawl across the sky, it started to warm a bit. Dean wondered if Nirn had similar seasons to earth. If it was going to get colder than it was now, they were going to have to find some warmer clothes.

They climbed a few steps, passing by yet more guards, to a big open courtyard with a very big, very sick looking tree at its center. A few benches had been placed on the stone walkway under the patchy shade of its twisted branches and there was a shallow, narrow canal of water that was being guided around the base of the tree and circling the entire courtyard. Over the narrow waterway were four wooden foot bridges, spaced equally around the circle so that people could continue on their path without having to get their feet wet.

Dean wondered again what the point of the shallow motes were, other than just looking kind of nice.

Dean and Sam followed as Cas passed under the tree and the three of them spared a glance for a man yelling about some guy named Talos and how great he was in front of a statue that looked an awful lot like a cross. Behind the cross, was a seven-foot-tall stone statue of a warrior sporting chainmail, a long, heavy cloak, and an expensive looking, winged helm. The statue of the man held a massive great sword to his chest, the point angled down towards the earth.

Behind the pacing preacher – who was dressed in heavy grey robes that dragged on the ground as he walked back and forth and yelled – the building that they had seen trekking towards the city the day before loomed tall, strong and formidable. 

There was a cascade of short waterfalls on either side of the stone steps leading up to the large building that sat overlooked the city, and the roar of rushing water was enough to drown out the zealot's preaching. Dean looked up from the dizzying sight of the water rushing past him in the opposite direction and took in what was easily the largest structure in the city – quite obviously a town hall type deal. At the top of the many stairs, the Hall sat surrounded by a wall of logs big enough that they had come from fully grown trees, all of which had been carved down to sharp points that were jutting up into the sky. Leading up to the huge double-doored entrance was a bridge, under which was the spring that was the source of the water running all through the city. It bubbled up furiously on either side of the bridge, making the water look as if it was boiling.

They walked between tall, fat, wooden pillars that met over their heads in a high peak and Dean had to crane his neck to stare up at the tallest points of the building. The entire structure, though constructed entirely out of wood, was formidable and intimidating but beautiful in the way he had always thought Viking-type architecture was. That, coupled with the backdrop of jagged mountain peaks with mist and clouds swirling around their tops…well. It might just take your breath away.

The gentle rustling and snaps of Whiterun’s city banners – white and tattered but with the clear image of a golden horse’s head, with some Celtic looking knots underneath – moving in the strengthening breeze, and the sound of the bubbling spring, followed them to the double doors.

Here, Dean paused to take a second to look behind them, where he could just see the mix of thatched and shingled rooftops of all the houses and buildings in the city below. Beyond the city walls, many, many miles away, was that impossibly massive mountain that loomed over them even at this distance. It was so high that its top disappeared into the clouds, leaving its true height a mystery.

He let his gaze drift away from the mountain and to all the guards patrolling the courtyard around the Hall. He’d thought there were a lot of guards down in the city, but it was nothing compared to the number milling around up here.

Iron hinges groaning under the weight of the righthand door as Cas heaved it open made Sam look over his shoulder. But none of the guards even looked up and Dean wondered what the hell they were even being paid to do.

“Same as last time,” Cas quietly reminded them as they walked through the entrance hall. “Let me do the talking.”

A cathedral ceiling loomed over their heads and a massive rectangular fire pit – at least eight feet long – sat sunken in to the middle of the Hall floor just like the one in The Bannered Mare. On either side of the fire were two long tables filled with expensive looking place settings and some food here and there as if a feast had just ended.

Cas was walking just slow enough to not look threatening, but he had the unmistakable gait of a soldier and anyone who knew what to look for could read it in his posture right away. Despite the angel’s care, a woman in expensive looking leather armor seemed to have noticed too, for she moved to intercept the angel, reaching over her shoulder and pulling a deadly looking sword free of its sheath, her stance wary and ready as she advanced.

Cas slowed, his hands at his sides but his wings tight against his back.

Slowly, Dean moved closer, trying to get a better look at the woman. Something was off about her, but it was hard to tell what with the helmet hiding half her face. Her skin was dark, but not normal dark. Like dark grey.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” the woman ground out between her teeth, apparently angry with their mere presence. “Jarl Balgruuf is _not_ receiving visitors.”

Dean and Sam's hands both went into the air to show they were unarmed but Cas' stayed down at his sides while the brothers inched closer to him in case things went sideways. Dean couldn't help but openly stare at the woman. Her skin was indeed a dark grey, her features were sharp and angular and very much _not_ human and she glared back at him with sharp black eyes. _All_ black. Like a demon. 

“Irileth!” 

She tensed for a second but then straightened, reluctantly sheathing her wicked-looking sword and both Sam and Dean gave a sigh of relief, lowering their hands and sharing a look.

There was a man – presumably Jarl Balgruuf – sitting in an ornate chair at the head of the hall, his limbs sprawling all over the place and a rather bored look on his face; a shocking contrast to Irileth, who was still standing rigid and wary and ready to spring.

Beside him stood a balding man with a sour look on his pinched face.

“What is your business in Whiterun?” the Jarl drawled in a thick accent.

Just like Hulda at the inn, Dean had a hard time placing the inflection. It was different then Hulda's, much more guttural, and Dean supposed that if he ever needed to do an impression of a Viking, he'd probably speak just like the Jarl had.

“Our presence was requested by the Greybeards.” Castiel's voice rumbled through the empty hall – apparently, he wasn't going to waste time with pleasantries, walking between Irileth and the massive fire pit towards where the Jarl was sitting. “They've asked us to help find someone. Someone important. My contact with them was brief but they told me to seek out the Jarl of Whiterun as my first point of contact. It was implied you might have some information that can help us find this person.”

All through Castiel's explanation the Jarl steadily straightened in his chair, the bored look on his face tightening into a frown of intrigue.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Castiel,” Cas answered, that same edge to his voice as when Dean had asked him that same question so many years ago. “This is Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Who is this person you seek?” the Jarl demanded. 

Something about the way he asked made Dean pretty sure he might already know. 

Great. Maybe he could tell them _who_ they were looking for.

Dean could feel the heat of the fire at his back, radiating through his thin tunic.

“I don’t know. I have no name, race or title. I have nothing and my connection with the Greybeards was severed before they could tell me anything else. I tried to contact them again but received no answer.”

“Why did you come here with so little information?”

“They seemed truly desperate.”

Something cleared in the Jarl's expression, looking as if he suddenly understood everything. He stood, his thick fur-lined robes bulky and heavy looking as he moved. Dean wondered how he wasn’t baking under all the layers. It wasn’t _that_ cold outside and the fire burning away in the pit was ridiculous.

“Come with me. The three of you. Irileth, Proventus,” Balgruuf gave Irileth and the man standing beside his throne a pointed look when they moved to follow the Jarl as he stepped down. “Stay here.”

Team Free Will was led up a long flight of stairs in the back corner of the Hall, to a smaller space with a few tables, shelves and weapon racks, all of which were empty. Dean moved over to the nearest table, finding a large map spread over its surface.

 _Province of Skyrim_ was written in a looping scrawl at the top of the parchment and Dean tried to take in as much information as possible.

There were tiny red and white flags pinned in various places on the map that meant nothing to him, but he let his eyes snap from city to city, reading strange names like Markarth, Rorikstead, Solitude, Dawnstar, Falkwreath…among others. Some he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pronounce.

And then there, almost right in the center of the map, was Whiterun.

He smiled, something settling in his mind now that he’d seen where they were in the context of surrounding areas.

“You are an angel,” the Jarl said abruptly. 

It wasn't a question and Dean felt his gut clench, his gaze darting over to Cas at the same time Sam's did.

“Yes,” Cas confirmed. His voice sounded as calm as ever but Dean could see his wings were stiff and rigid, like a tightly coiled spring ready to jump.

Jarl and angel stared each other down, neither giving anything away in their expressions and Dean and Sam glanced nervously at each other, hands twitching to grab weapons they didn’t have. The Jarl didn't have a weapon either, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a dozen armed guards at his side with the snap of his fingers.

But then the Jarl seemed to relax, his shoulders shifting easily, and Cas mirrored the posture, his wings relaxing a little as well. It seemed as if whatever the man had been looking for, he’d found.

“I can only assume,” Balgruuf began, leaning back against a second table full of maps and rolls of parchment, “That you are here to find the Dragonborn.”

Dean looked to Cas, wondering if the word meant anything to him. He was glad he'd come to know the angel so well, otherwise he would not have been able to read the micro-expressions on his face: a flash of recognition in his blue eyes and a curious frown.

“The Dragonborn,” Cas repeated, seeming to ponder over its meaning. But then his frown deepened in understanding and he spoke another word, his voice changing into something impossibly deep, rumbling as if spoken from the chest of something _much_ larger than the human body he was currently inhabiting.

“ _Dovahkiin_.”

The Jarl's eyes went wide and if there hadn’t been a table behind him, Dean was sure the man would have taken an instinctive step back. As it was, Dean only just stopped himself from doing the same.

“You speak the language of the Dragons?” the Jarl asked, torn between awe and suspicion. His large and heavily scarred hands tightened around the edge of the table he was leaning on. 

“Yes,” Cas replied simply. “I've heard scattered tales of the prophecy and whispers of past Dovahkiin. Tiber Septim, Miraak and Reman Cyrodiil. But that is all I have heard: whispers and rumors.”

The Jarl seemed to have recovered from his shock and sighed heavily, as if the weight of something massive lay across his ornate shoulders. 

“These stories are more than mere folk tales passed around taverns and between traveling merchants, angel.” He leveled a heavy look upon all three of them. “They are all true.” 

He straightened then, his tone turning brusque and business-like as he visibly collected himself and pushed on. 

“Four months ago there was an attack on Helgen, a small town to the south-east. There were only a handful of survivors – one of them, a Dark Elf woman by the name Jenassa, came to the city seeking aide for Riverwood. At the time, we thought the dragon that attacked Helgen was going to target them next but the dragon never showed itself again. Several days after the woman arrived, a second dragon was spotted over the plains to the west and a group of soldiers was dispatched to take it down. We lost several good men but the Elf...” he cleared his throat, looking away. “The soldiers who returned all told the same story. After the dragon had finally been slain it turned to glowing ash and a wash of light left it's corpse...and passed through her.”

“She absorbed the dragon's soul,” Cas summarized, staring with an unreadable expression.

Balgruuf nodded solemnly. “What else could it have been?” He turned and made his way around the other side of the table, staring down at the little pins stuck in the worn parchments. “Much like the stories you've heard about the Dovahkiin prophecy there have been whispers and rumors building over the last few years. Dragons are back, people were saying, but it was still just stories around the fire. Until Helgen.”

“No one has seen the Dragonborn in two months. Last anyone had heard she was heading to Windhelm and then further north, to the College of Winterhold. Her purpose was unknown but one can assume she was seeking knowledge on destructive magic.” The Jarl rubbed his forehead, suddenly looking exhausted. “People were, understandably shaken after the attack on Helgen, a tall tale suddenly turning to flesh and bone and fire. My city panicked...until the Dragonborn came.” He heaved another sigh, “But now she is gone and yet more rumors are starting to spread about how the hero has abandoned us all...” he trailed off, looking annoyed about the mass hysteria he could no doubt feel building within the walls of his city.

“If the three of you wish to help find her then I will help you as best I can. Wish that I could accompany you myself but alas...I have a city to run.” He looked genuinely disheartened that he could not go with them, but it was the kind of reserved sadness that came with years of exposure and Dean wondered if perhaps Balgruff had accepted his title of Jarl of Whiterun somewhat reluctantly.

“I can offer you some gold and some decent weapons and armor.” He smirked, “At least better than what you have now. Elrindir, who owns The Drunken Huntsman down by the city gates specializes in all manor of archery needs. But if you want something more devastating than a bow,” Dean looked over when Cas ducked his head with a smirk and wondered what that meant, “Then I suggest you stop by Adrianne's forge right across from the Huntsman.”

The Jarl turned and tossed a rather sizable coin purse at Cas, who's hand darted out to pluck it from the air. 

“That should cover the basics.” He gave Cas a once-over and then said contemplatively. “I'm not sure that iron would work for you, angel. Not with those wings in the way. Elrindir will have something almost as strong in leather. You'll find it much more flexible.”

Cas gave a solemn nod, likely knowing that already but too polite to mention it. He stepped towards Balgruff, extending a hand. “May Talos smile upon you, friend.” 

The Jarl mirrored him with a grin, his palm open, and they both grasped each other’s forearm. 

“And you, my friend.”

Once they were out in the light of day once more, the massive wooden doors creaking closed behind them, Dean finally felt like he could breathe properly again.

Cas quickly, almost compulsively, stretched his wings again, and Dean waited until they were out of earshot of the nearest guards before harshly whispering, “Dragons? _Dragons_ , Cas?”

Sam’s face was an odd mixture of cautiousness and curiosity, but Cas merely looked at Dean with that small humans-are-so-weird frown on his face.

“Yes, dragons. I thought dragons would be the least strange part of all this for you. After all, dragons used to be on earth as well before they went extinct.”

“Do you mean dinosaurs?” Sam asked, confused.

With a look that could have withered the plants around them, Cas brushed past Sam and led the way over the bridge. “I have watched the evolution of life on Earth from the first fish hauling itself onto the beach to now and remember every second of it in exquisite detail, Sam, do you think I may have mistaken dinosaurs for dragons?”

“…no,” Sam muttered, his face red. “So…uh…who's Talos?” Sam asked as they descended the stone steps, back down into the city, obviously wanting to change the subject.

“It's a long and complicated story,” Castiel answered evasively. Clearly his mind was elsewhere. “Though if you truly want to know, I am sure that man there would be more than willing to tell you the story in it's entirety.”

Sam and Dean both turned to look at the man Cas pointed out. It was the same guy standing in front of the wonky cross statue at the bottom of the stairs and he was screaming at the passerbys skirting as far around him as possible without stepping in the shallow trenches of water.

“Talos is the _true_ God of man!” he was yelling, his hands raised in the air before him like he was about to receive revelations. “Ascended from flesh to rule the realm of spirit! The very idea is inconceivable to our Elven overlords!” The man spat on the ground at his feet. “To share it with man? Ha! They can barely tolerate our presence here!”

“Ok, yeah, never mind.” Sam grimaced, shooting a wary look at the zealot over his shoulder.

Dean stumbled, tripping over a board in the small footbridge under the tree. “Did…did that guy just say _Elven overlords_?”

“Yes. There are three races of elves on Nirn.” Castiel slipped easily into briefing mode as they passed under the sickly tree and made their way towards the market. “There once was four but that was a very long time ago, though some claim they're still here just...changed. High Elves, Wood Elves and Dark Elves, as we now know our Dragonborn to be,” he reminded them. “The lost race called themselves Snow Elves but I know next to nothing about them. The Kahjiit are another race. They will be strange to your eyes, try not to gawk like you did when you saw my wings, it will give you away as foreigners immediately.”

The brothers shared a look. “Well, what do they look like, so we're prepared.”

“They are essentially large cats but I would advise against calling them that lest you find your eyes being clawed out.”

“Cats?” Dean repeated in a hushed tone as a group of nobles walked past in blue robes and fur shawls. “Like a Puss N' Boots kind of situation?”

“I don’t know what that is. They are as tall as you and me and stand upright, wear armor, carry weapons, wield magic. They have a reputation for being incredibly intelligent and infinitely devious.”

Dean just shook his head, slotting the race of fucking _cat_ _people_ right next to the elves and the dragons. “Ok...what other races or species are there that we should know about?”

“Well there are the Norns, Bretons, Imperials and Redguards – all of which are mostly human as far as your eyes can tell. Then there are the Kahjiit of course and the elves. Orcs will perhaps be a bit strange for you. They are big with sharp teeth and huge muscles and, in my opinion, a serious attitude problem. Excellent warriors, though. Most strange for you will likely be the Argonians, I think. They are...reptilian in appearance.”

By the end of Cas’ briefing, the three of them were standing on the road between The Drunken Huntsman and Adrianne's smithy, the two first shops near the entrance to the city, and Dean's mind was...doing unexpectedly well. There had just been so much strangeness happening in such a short amount of time that he was pretty sure his brain was just refusing to process it all together.

“Right,” Sam said resolutely, as if he were trying to force puzzles pieces into places where they don’t fit at all. 

“Can I safely assume the two of you will be purchasing swords or something similar?” Castiel asked them, opening the coin purse Balgruuf had given them.

“Ok, just…hang on,” Sam ordered, getting that look on his face Dean knew meant he had a thousand questions and was trying to decide which one to ask first. 

“Ok first, Irileth…what…what was she?” Sam winced, likely wishing he’d phrased that better.

Cas lowered the coin purse patiently. “Irileth is a Dark Elf. Also known as Dunmer.”

“Do they all have eyes that look like-“

“No,” Cas said with a small twitch of his lips, “Hers were particularly demonic looking. But there are no demons here. Not like the ones you are used to. There is no Hell, either, but there are the Daedra which…” Cas waved a hand, dismissing his own train of thought. “That’s not important right now. What else?”

“How come people speak English here? That seems like… _incredibly_ unlikely. Astronomically unlikely, actually.” Sam’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, his eyes wide and curious.

Dean had marveled at that luck as well. What were the odds that the alien people on another planet, in another galaxy, spoke the same language they did?

But Cas scoffed, full on smirking now. “The Gods are not nearly as creative as they like to think they are. Much of everything has been borrowed from everything else.”

Sam took a prolonged blink to process that and then merely shook his head. “Ok…ok.”

Cas glanced at Dean, looking concerned, then back to Sam. “Are you alright, Sam?”

Biting his tongue to keep from grinning, Dean let his brother speak for himself.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m ok, this is just…a lot to take in.” He offered the worried angel a small, smile, “I’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”

“Alright…well, ask as many questions as you want. I will try my best to answer them.” Cas opened the coin purse again, reaching in to start counting out coins. “Now, go find a weapon and some armor that you are comfortable using but is also something you will be able to carry on your person day and night.”

Dean cupped his hands so that Cas could dump some gold coins into them.

“Wow! These are so light!” Dean exclaimed, marvelling that something that looked like gold could weigh so little, “I could carry like a million of these things.”

Cas gave another third of the coins to Sam and then shoved the rest back in to his own bag. “Go then. Get what you need from the Blacksmith and come back here to this spot when you are done. Then I think it would be a good idea to get something else to eat from the inn before we head out.”

“So, you've got a plan then?” Dean asked. 

One corner of Cas' mouth pulled down unhappily. “I don't think I could call it that.”

With that, the angel turned and climbed the steps to The Drunken Hunstman, leaving the brothers standing in the middle of the street with their hands full of gold coins.

* * *

Whiterun City

[Shrine of Talos in front of Dragonsreach](https://caerberus.tumblr.com/post/173863987664)

[Inside Dragonsreach](https://itsbash.tumblr.com/post/166253488211/while-taking-a-break-from-nms-i-got-the-urge-to)

[The Bannered Mare interior](https://staticdelivery.nexusmods.com/images/110/1063902-1321978799.jpg)

Music:

[Ragnar the Red song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I56ZofrlwDI)

[The Bannered Mare from Skyrim OST](https://awesomeanime-ost.tumblr.com/post/35213280713/the-bannered-mare-jeremy-soule-the-elder)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Also, I am still looking for a better title for this. if you have any suggestions, drop it in the comments below!


	4. Chapter 4

Adrianne, Dean was pretty sure that was her name, turned out to be the woman he had seen working the forge the morning before when they entered the city for the first time. Today, her face was just as dirty, obviously she’d already been hard at work, and her husband was a massive, hulking man standing behind the counter of their shop. He wore a majestic looking armor set that looked like plated steel with some intricate designs, with fur padding underneath and several thick leather straps crossing his body here and there likely to hold several weapons at once. 

It was a sparse space, with only a few weapons and armor pieces on display. Other than some barrels shoved in to one corner near the door, the room was empty save for a staircase to the left where there was a loft packed to the brim with crates and more barrels.

“Hello,” Adrianne’s husband greeted in a gruff but not unfriendly tone. He sounded like he’d been smoking since he was a toddler. “What can we do for you fine gentleman?”

Dean dumped his pile of coins right on the counter between them. “We need everything. Weapons and armor.” He gestured for Sam to dump his coins too and he did so with a nervous twitch of his lips.

The couple shared a look and then the two of them were rushing out from behind the counter, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to present their merchandise.

Two very long hours later, Sam and Dean left the shop with a lot less coins but a ton of new gear. The first thing they spotted was Castiel, sitting on the rock retaining wall across the street with an unimpressed look on his face. His wings were draped down over his shoulders, the long flight feathers crossed on the grass behind him.

“That took considerably longer than it should have,” griped the angel, shoving off the wall and coming to meet them in the middle of the street. Both wings flicked out in irritation and then settled tightly against his back.

Dean would be the first to admit it. He was staring. Because Cas looked...he looked...

The angel had on a completely different ensemble than when the three of them had parted ways. He now wore a suit of dark brown leather armor that looked thick but flexible, just like the Jarl had promised. Broad leather straps made sure the pauldrons stayed put on his broad shoulders and the leather cuirass came down to mid-thigh, with a wide belt around his hips, inlayed with a fat silver disk that served as an ornate buckle. He had a leather bracer around each of his forearms that extended down over the first knuckles of his index and middle fingers – likely to help when using his bow – and sturdy looking boots with fur around the top. 

The best part was the bow sticking up over his shoulder, settled just between his wings. It was simple, nothing overly intricate about it, but there was something about the image of an angel weilding a bow an arrow that had cupid jokes rearing up in Dean's brain. Over the other shoulder, Dean could see twenty or so feathered arrow ends.

All that, coupled with the sleek wings, constant frown and his sharp blue eyes almost made Cas look like a stranger. A very dangerous looking stranger.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam was saying, “Adrianne and her husband made us try literally everything. But hey, check it out.” He reached down to each hip and slid free the two steel axes from their wide leather holding loops, twirling them around impressively. The craftmanship was striking; the metal shined to perfection and there were beautifully intricate swirls carved into the side of the axe heads.

Sam's and Dean's armor was more or less the same with a few design variations here and there. A leather tunic that also went to mid-thigh, a layer of fur, and then a few steel plates with intricate designs carved into the metal. One plate contoured to each shoulder, one big plate over their chest, and two on the outside of either thigh provided a fair amount of coverage while the leather and fur provided a fair amount of warmth. Their boots were equally warm, with thick fur on the inside and thicker fur around the cuffs. The whole shin and top of their foot had steel plates as well, carved with the same swirling patterns that were on their cuirass.

“Dean, what weapon did you choose?” Castiel asked, turning his blue eyes on the elder hunter.

Dean grinned, reaching over his shoulder and pulling the ridiculously large steel greatsword from the sheath against his back.

“How badass is this thing?” he said, itching to swing it at something but resisting when he saw some guards on the corner staring at him with their arms crossed.

“Dean...do you know how to use that?” Castiel sighed.

“Of course! The pointy end goes into the other person.” When both Sam and Cas scowled at him, he said, “Alright, alright, I'm serious ok? I might not be an expert with it – yet – but I wouldn't have gotten it if I didn't think I could handle it. Besides,” he added, clapping his hand down on the angel's leather-clad shoulder. “Someone's gonna need to run in and distract the bad guys so you can pick 'em off with that bow of yours, right? That's what me and Sam are for!”

Sam just shook his head, sharing the angel's unimpressed frown. “Just go with it, Cas, it took me twenty minutes to get him to let go of the war hammer.”

“You guys are assholes,” Dean grumbled, blindly hefting the greatsword over his shoulder and back into the wide-mouthed sheath, relieved when he got it in on the first try. 

Cas rolled his eyes and gestured for them to follow, heading for the inn just like he'd suggested earlier.

“So, what kind of bow is that Cas?” Sam asked him.

Cas was walking a foot or two ahead of them and it gave Dean the chance to see how the four-foot-long wooden bow was secured to a notched hook in the back of the leather armor plate, making it easy to draw and stow quickly. The quiver itself was strapped right to Cas' body, a strap running under one arm, across his chest and over the other shoulder.

Cas glanced around as if making sure no one could hear before he answered. “It's actually an Imperial bow that Elrindir traded from a solider passing through the city a few weeks ago.”

“Is Imperial a bad word here or something?” Dean asked, leaning in close just in case.

“The last time I was here, Skyrim seemed on the verge of civil war and I fear it is reaching its apex now. The Imperials rival the Stormcloaks. The Stormcloaks are the rebellion that rose up against the Imperial Legion, who sought to force all factions, races and regions under one rule.”

“Oh, that never goes well,” Dean said with a wince. 

“It certainly did not. Especially since the last time I was here the Imperials had control of Whiterun, now it seems to be a neutral city. I don’t know much more than that, unfortunately. I had more pressing political issues to worry about the last time I was here. That is all Elrindir had time to tell me while he was modifying my armor.”

Their lunch at the inn was quick – soft bread and a chunk of meat that neither Sam or Dean chose to question and a mug of warm wine – then they were bidding Hulda goodbye and heading for the city gates.

“We will go to Riverwood and then on to Ivarstead, which is the village just at the base of the mountain where the Greybeards live,” Cas told them as the heavy wooden gates swung closed behind them. “We are going to need more information than a name and the fact that she passed through Whiterun a few months ago.”

Dean looked up at the irritation in the angel's voice.

“Right so what do we have so far?” Sam said briskly, likely hearing Cas' tone as well. “She's a she. She's a dark elf. Her name is Jenassa. She was in Whiterun a few months ago after escaping the dragon attack on Helgen.” To his credit, Sam said 'dragon attack' with a level voice, as if it was something he dealt with every day.

Dean supposed they kind of _did_ on some level. What was a dragon but another monster? Granted it was a much, much bigger monster than they were used to but dammit they were the Winchesters! They'd infiltrated heaven. They’d shot the Devil in the face. They had the King of Hell on speed dial. Dragons were nothing!

Dean squared his shoulders, feeling the foreign but comforting weight of the greatsword against his back. He might not be used to swords specifically, but he was more than comfortable wielding a knife or a machete. How different could it be? Plus, there was something immensely comforting about the weight of weapons hanging off him.

Now that he was not only armed but also protected with armor, he was feeling much more confident in this strange new place.

They could handle this.

“So, where is Helgen?” Sam asked. “Close by?”

“About a days walk directly South of Riverwood, which is only an hour or so up into that valley over there. _If_ we were to follow the road to Ivarstead, it would take us right through Helgen.”

“We're not going to be taking the road?” Sam asked what Dean had also been wondering.

“Not the whole way, it would add another day to our travel to have to swing that far south. Cutting through the forest around the base of the mountain will be much faster,” Castiel told them as they passed a small stable with a single saddled horse standing in the barn. 

“Right, so Jenassa left Helgen and would have passed through Riverwood to get to Whiterun is what you're thinking?” Dean asked just to clarify.

“Precisely. We know that she came to Whiterun specifically to ask for aid to be sent to Riverwood in case the dragon attacked that town next. So, it is likely that she spoke to someone and they asked her to go to the Jarl. I doubt she would have chosen to go out of her way to help a town she was only planning on running through. She would have been scared. Traumatized. She would have only been planning to keep moving, not run an errand.” Cas sighed, glancing down at a small vegetable garden as he passed.

Sam nodded but didn’t look wholly convinced. “That’s true. But it’s also possible that she went to the Jarl because it was the right thing to do. It’s what I would have done.”

“You and Dean face traumatic situations almost daily, you are hardly an accurate marker when trying to get in to the headspace of a normal person.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Oh and you are, Mr. Wavelength of Celestial Intent?”

Castiel shot him a glare. “If either of you have a better suggestion on where to start our search then, by all means, speak up.”

The brothers shared a look but neither spoke. They didn’t have any better ideas but now that they had to walk everywhere instead of driving, it seemed that much more important that their hunches be carefully examined. What if they followed a shaky lead that turned in to a dead end? Not only will it have taken days to follow it, but if they had to double back, days could easily start turning in to weeks.

On earth, a dead lead was no big deal. They could drive across the entire country and back in less than a week if they really put their minds to it. But here…here, deciding to follow the wrong path could spell disaster.

It was coming up on supper time and the sun was crawling steadily closer to the mountain that was jutting from the ground less than a mile off to their right. To their left, rose that one massive mountain, the highest peaks of which were still shrouded in cloud. 

As they followed the road out of town, they walked past several small farm houses and a few windmills rotating lazily in the afternoon breeze. There was a patchwork of vegetable and wheat fields and some small enclosures that held shaggy looking cows munching on dried grass. The cows watched them disinterestedly, occasionally shaking flies off their heads or bending to sniff at a stray chicken wandering through their paddock.

At the outskirts of the farming community, where the road interested another, they passed by two large log houses with a modest sign outside that read “Honningbrew Meadery”.

“Man, she wasn't kidding when she said that ale was fresh,” Dean acknowledged appreciatively.

When they came to the intersection in the cobblestone road, Cas turned right, and they began a steady but thankfully shallow climb up switchbacks that had been cut into the hill and woven between large boulders and chunks of rock that had broken away from the mountain ages ago and were ever so slowly being overtaken by earth and foliage. Tall pine trees began to dot the landscape, more and more of them rising up from the ground the closer to the mountain base they got and the sound of the rushing rapids in a narrow river to the East was a quiet hum against the backdrop of gentle bird song and the light breeze passing through the surrounding trees.

“There's a shit-ton of butterflies around here,” Dean observed keenly, spotting a cluster of yellow and orange butterflies fluttering around just to the side of the path and then more in the trees up ahead. 

Several flew past his face, one or two bumping into his forehead and nose and he, very gently, swatted them away.

The switchbacks eventually evened out when they crested the hanging valley between the large and small mountain and Dean came to a stop at the top of the steep hill, shifting his shoulders under the armor and resettling the weight of the sword on his back. It was going to take some getting used to, but it was better and more comforting than the thin, cotton clothing he'd been wearing before, which he had tightly rolled up and shoved into his satchel. It took up the whole bag, but it was nice to have a change of clothes in case his armor got wet.

He turned to look back over the ground they had covered and felt the air rush from his lungs. 

The entire city of Whiterun and the surrounding farmland was visible from where he stood on the path between the trees. The massive building at the top of the city stood above all else against the backdrop of yet more jagged mountains, hazy in the distance. The valley stretched long and wide off to the west of the city and then disappeared into the horizon, and Dean wasn't usually one to stop and appreciate the scenery but it was quite breathtaking and they were on another planet, to be fair. Of course he was going to stare sometimes.

When he'd finally taken in his fill of the sights, Dean turned and was relieved to see that Sam had been staring out over the landscape just as slack-jawed and awestruck as he had been.

Cas was father up the path staring at the butterflies fluttering around his head. Of course he was. His face blank but his wings were suspiciously fluffy.

Once they shifted Cas' focus off the butterflies, the three of them were back on track and the light around them was just starting to turn a golden with the sinking sun when they came upon the bridge that Cas told them crossed the river and brought them to Riverwood. 

Just outside the small village, they passed a spindly wooden rack in the grass on the riverbank with fish drying in what was left of the sun and a tent and fire pit set up just beside it.

As they followed the widening road Dean saw a wooden wall built in an arc over the road and, unsurprisingly, there were more guards patrolling on top of it with bows strapped to their backs. They were dressed just the same as the ones in Whiterun and Dean assumed they had been sent by Balgruuf after the attack on Helgen.

“So, are we stopping here for info first or hitting it on the way back?” Sam asked, both he and Dean moving to walk closer to the angel to keep their conversation at least semi-private. 

“On the way back to where?” Castiel asked, sidestepping a chicken pecking at the ground.

“Well, I thought you wanted to get to the Greybeards as soon as possible. If they have all the info we need, wouldn’t it make sense to go straight to them instead of spending time here? We might spend a whole day trying to find out who spoke to Jenassa on her way through. If we strike out, it just means we’re a day behind getting to the Greybeards.” Sam glanced back at Dean and Dean just shrugged.

Cas looked between them with a frown. “I don’t intent to return to Riverwood once we leave. Or Whiterun, for that matter. We’ve gained what little information the Jarl had for us and we will take whatever information is in this village and then we will move on to Ivarstead.”

Sam pulled a face. “Alright then,” he muttered.

They had stopped outside a building that had to look of an inn – long and with many evenly spaced windows – and Cas turned to climb the stairs to the door.

It wasn’t nearly as nice looking as the Bannered Mare. The roof was thatched instead of tiled and the plain log walls were grey and old. There were no intricated designs carved into the door and the sign at the bottom of the stairs – Sleeping Giant Inn – was so old that the paint had worn off it.

There was a red-faced man slumped on the bench outside the door and laying at his feet was a large and scraggy looking dog. It didn't even lift its head when the trio walked by to push the door open. 

“We will ask some questions here to see if we can find any leads but then I’d like to press on,” Cas mumbled as they entered the inn.

“Wait, are we walking through the night?” Dean asked. “Cas, I gotta tell you I feel good right now but I don't have another ten hours of walking in me. Not with all this gear – it weighs a ton.” 

Sam was nodding beside him but Cas just gave them a little smile. “I can get something to give us all a boost of energy.”

“Like what? They have Redbull here?” Dean laughed but Cas' grin turned to a smirk.

“No, something much better, though considerably less palatable.”

This inn was bigger than the Bannered Mare but had a lot less people. Instead of a bunch of small tables scattered around, there were long tables pushed against three of the walls and, of course, a massive fire pit in the center of the room. Though this one had been sensibly built up off the floor to make it more difficult for someone to fall in. The floor had a few animal furs thrown down to ward off some of the chill and on each of the stick beams holding up the roof, there was a sawed off horn with a lit candle inside, providing warm and gentle light. At the head of room was the bar, where a very tired, very old man was dragging a dirty cloth back and forth across the scarred wooden surface.

There was a handful of people keeping to themselves – two hunched over their plates at separate tables and another staring listlessly into the fire – and didn’t look like they were up to having a conversation with a stranger prying for information.

“If you want,” Cas said, turning back to the brothers, “You can head back out into the village and start asking questions. There are considerably fewer people in the tavern than I thought there would be. I can start in here and the two of you can start out there and hopefully we can find something of use and be on our way.”

The brothers agreed and left the angel to sweet-talk the patrons and owner while they went back outside. Dean eyed the drunk guy still sitting, half conscious, on the bench by the door and nudged Sam’s arm. 

If there was a creature more willing to spill their guts than a drunk then Dean had never met it.

“Hey, buddy!” he cried jovially, as if greeting an old friend. He sat down on the bench beside the guy, making sure the long blade on his back didn't catch on it. 

The guy lifted his head and stared at him with one, bloodshot, eyeball. “Y'got anything ta drink?” he slurred, wavering under the strain of speaking.

Dean gave his brother a pointed look and Sam ducked back into the bar just in case it took another pint to get the guy talking.

“I don't, sorry.”

“Ah, what good're ya, then?” the man growled, waving a hand in his direction like he was a pesky mosquito. 

“I can get you one though,” Dean amended quickly, it seemed likely that the owner had kicked the guy out and refused to serve him more. Dean would have done the same thing; nothing kills a business like a patron drinking themselves to death in your bar. 

“Yeah?” the guy asked, suddenly sounding hopeful and making an effort to sit up straighter. “In exchange fer what? I don't got no mon- _hic_ -money.”

Dean grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh no, no, it's on me, buddy. A whole pint...if you answer some questions,” he added.

“What kinda questions?” the drunk's eyes had narrowed suspiciously, suddenly flicking down and taking in Dean's armor and then up to the handle of the sword visible over his shoulder. The man leaned closer, his rancid breath making Dean grimace. “You an Imperial spy?”

“Hell no, I hate those bastards!” Dean declared automatically. He’d picked up on enough by now to know that they were still in an area that wasn’t fond of the governing establishment. 

The drunk seemed pleased enough with that answer but didn't have time to respond before Sam was back and pushing a frothing tankard into his shaking hands.

“There you go,” Dean smiled, trying to sound cheerful as the man raised the mug to his lips, struggling to keep his hands steady long enough to take a gulp. Obviously, alcohol dependency was something that destroyed lives on other planets too.

“So, listen. We're looking for someone,” Dean started, all false cheeriness gone. “A dark elf. Female.” The words sounded so ridiculous in his head but he tried to make them sound less bulky on his tongue than they felt. “She would have passed through here a few months ago right after the dragon attack on Helgen. You remember seeing anything?”

The drunk had been bringing the mug to his lips again but froze when Dean mentioned Helgen.

“Not from 'round here are ya?” he asked, more of a statement than a question.

“What gave us away?” Sam asked, standing tall and intimidating with his arms folded across his chest.

“Everyone 'n their cat's herd 'bout that damn dragon!” the man bellowed, scaring a stray chicken out of the bushes at the bottom of the stairs. They dog’s ears perked forward but he didn’t lift his head. 

“What're you muscle heads lookin' for, some epic hunt?” He shook his head as if he truly thought Sam and Dean were morons, seemingly having forgotten that they'd asked him about the woman, not the dragon.

“Uh, yeah. But this woman – the dark elf, remember? She's trying to hunt it too and we don't want her to get it first 'cause I mean, how often do you get a chance to slay a dragon?” Dean said, thinking quickly and trying to keep up with the inebriated man's illogical leaps in thought.

“Well, if the rumors' to be believed then you'll 'ave plenty o' chances soon enough.” The man took another swig of his ale. 

“Yeah but we want to kill the _first_ one. Bragging rights, you understand,” Sam interjected. “So, we just want to find this woman, maybe pay her off to stay out of our way.”

“Well, good luck trackin' her down now. Was months ago she came through, wearing nothin' but rags with rope still tied round 'er wrists, covered in ash.” Another swig. “She had a chat with Gerdur over at the lumber yard, there. You know, Ralof's sister? Then she stayed a night at the inn 'ere – I seen her go in right from this very bench! – and then was off and I ain't seen 'er since.”

“Is Gerdur still at the lumber mill?” Dean pressed.

That bloodshot eye fixed on him again. “Well she owns the bloody thing so I’d say yer safe to place yer bets.” He gestured with a shaky hand and the brothers turned to look. 

The mill was just across the river and down the road a bit. From where he sat on the small deck of the inn, Dean could just see the end of a pile of huge logs near the riverbank.

They thanked and left the man to drink the rest of his ale in peace and went to stand off to the side of the road and out of the way of passing people and guards while they waited for Cas to finish whatever he was doing inside. 

The sun was below the mountains now and the chill Dean remembered from their night sleeping next to the creek was quickly creeping back into the air. He could feel it on his face and bare arms, but the fact that he was wrapped in several layers of fur and leather really helped keep the cold from seeping into his bones.

The guards started lighting torches to carry on their patrols and the people that had been walking or loitering in the street began to disappear into houses for the night. The breeze, which had been gentle and refreshing on their climb into the valley, began to rustle the pine trees a little more insistently.

The town was settling down for the night, and Dean glanced at the tavern door, sure Gerdur would no longer be at the mill by now. In the distance, an owl hooted, punctuating the clock ticking in Dean’s mind.

The door to the tavern slammed opened and Castiel strode out, moving swiftly down the stairs, wings arched stiffly behind his back as if he was ready to take flight at any moment. He strode past the brothers, with an urgent, “Follow me. Quickly!” hissed out the corner of his mouth.

The brothers fell in line behind the angel, walking as quickly as they could without looking suspicious. Less than a minute later the door to the tavern slammed open a second time, so hard that the drunk sitting on the bench gave a violent start and dropped his empty tankard. 

“Run!” Cas barked over his shoulder.

The three of them broke into a sprint and Dean noticed Cas' wings arc up like he was desperately resisting the urge to just take flight and leave the hunters behind. As the sound of footsteps stomping down the wooden tavern steps reached his ears he snarled at the angel for good measure.

“If you fucking fly off, I'll kill you!”

They passed a general goods store and a smith and then passed under another wooden arch at the other end of the road out of Riverwood, shouldering past confused guards that shouted at them to watch where they were going

“Thieves! _Stop them_!” A woman shouted behind them, sounding enraged.

But by the time the woman managed to convince the guards that the trio had stolen something from her, they were already disappearing into the woods, Dean trying to simultaneously make sure he didn't lose sight of Cas weaving between the trees like some kind of fucking wood sprite while also not tripping over roots or rocks as he ran. 

It was now that Dean was starting to realize the downside to the armor he and Sam had chosen. It made running difficult – or it at least made keeping up with Cas difficult. It was bulky and heavy and where Dean would normally be able to run much father, he found his chest burning after just a few minutes and could hear Sam huffing laboriously a few feet away. 

“Cas!” he gasped when the burn in his lungs became unbearable. He stumbled to a halt, using the sturdiness of a nearby tree to keep himself from falling over while his legs shook, seeing Sam in a similar state, a poor sapling bowing under his brother's weight.

“I'm not running anymore!” Sam snapped when Cas came walking back through the trees with a confused frown and nary a drop of sweat on his brow. 

The angel looked between the brothers as they finally pulled themselves upright and got their breathing under control, looking as if he didn't understand why they weren't still running from the guards.

“We're far enough away now,” Sam said as soon as Cas opened his mouth. “We can just _walk_ from here.”

“Yeah, where are we going anyway and what the hell happened back there?” Dean asked, finally able to breathe right. “I thought the plan was to ask around, gather some intel...what changed?”

Cas blinked and Dean saw his wings lower, curling around his shoulders a little, the feathers flat and sleek. 

“An... opportunity presented itself and I...I took it,” Castiel evaded, his blue eyes stabbing into the tall pine trees around them.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he tried to get Cas to look at him. “Cas, what did you do?”

“I simply confiscated from the inn keeper that which she had procured by questionable means.” Cas finally met Dean's eye but then quickly looked away again. “Regardless, we needed it more than she did.”

“You stole something from her?” Sam summarized, sounding unimpressed. “Couldn't you have done a better job of it?”

“She was much more observant than I had originally anticipated,” Cas grumbled.

“You sure are using a lot of big words just to say you tried to steal and got caught with your hand in the cookie jar,” Dean smirked, finally able to breathe properly again.

That got Cas looking at him, even if it was just to glare. The angel pulled a glass bottle out of his bag and the brothers' attention immediately turned to it. Even though their surroundings were growing steadily darker, the viscous green liquid inside the bottle was easy to see sloshing around.

“You're going to tell us to drink that, aren't you?” Sam grimaced.

“Not yet. We're going to keep moving. When you start to feel fatigued, split the bottle between the two of you and it will help you recover some energy.” He handed the bottle to Sam and looked between them regretfully. “I wish that I could recharge your batteries for you, but as I explained before, I have to be careful expending my grace here.”

“It's fine, Cas. We understand.”

“Ok, but what’s the plan now?” Sam asked impatiently, adjusting his armor with an unhappy look. “We were supposed to be gathering information on where to look next. We even had a promising lead but now-”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Cas said with a wave of his hand. He turned and started walking, his wings folded loose against his back. “I managed to get a fair bit of information out of the inn keeper before she caught me down in her hidden room and chased me out.”

Cas filled them in as they trudged through the forest, stepping between tall trees and shaggy bushes as the last rays of light disappeared over the edge of the mountains and plunged them into darkness. With the trees blocking most of the moonlight, picking their way over roots, rocks and uneven ground slowed their progress to a sluggish crawl.

“I found a letter,” the angel informed them. He pulled a piece of parchment from where he'd tucked it under one of the many straps criss-crossing his body and handed it over to Sam.

“Did you _find_ it sitting next to the potion you stole?” Dean snarked.

Cas ignored him. “It's signed _J,_ which I think means it is from our Dragonborn, and it is addressed to the Riverwood inn keeper, Delphine.”

“I'm tired of playing your games,” Sam read off the parchment. He had to hold it an inch from his face and even then, was frowning hard to try and see it in the dark. “I took Windcaller's horn, do not try to tack me down or I'll smash it to dust. As the last remaining Blade, I'm sure you wouldn't want to carry that dishonor. Don't tell anyone we even met. Forget my name. If I find out you've been flapping your gums, I'll put your head on a stick.” Sam finished reading, handing the letter back to Cas. “It's just signed ‘J’.”

“This chick sounds like she knows what she's doing,” Dean remarked. “I'm wondering if maybe she doesn't have experience with disappearing.”

“I was thinking about that, actually,” Sam contemplated as the trio picked their way through the trees. “The drunk guy said she ran into town in rags with ropes still around her wrists. Kinda sounds like she escaped something more than the dragon attack.”

“Think she was being held captive?” Dean asked, running through the facts in his head. It fits.

“Or she was an Imperial prisoner,” Castiel offered, glancing over his shoulder.

“What about the Stormcloaks?” Dean asked.

Cas looked at him shrewdly over his shoulder. “The Stormcloaks do not take prisoners.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. If Jenassa was a criminal then finding her had just gotten even more complicated. It already seemed like the women was better than most at moving around unseen but if she had criminal contacts to boot...they might never find her.

The three of them kept moving, following Cas, who weaved between the trees like a shadow despite the huge wings hugging his back. Dean watched him whenever he wasn't busy watching the ground for stray roots looking to trip him, and studiously took in how Cas would glide past tress and saplings, disturbing the foliage no more than a breeze would. His booted feet left no imprints in the soft earth and dead leaves coating the forest floor and barely a sound was made by the angel at all. If Dean closed his eyes, it would be like Cas wasn't even there.

He realized that this was likely closer to Cas' natural state than being cooped up in the bunker with them. They'd given the angel his own room of course but when one didn't need to sleep, one had little use for a bed. Cas didn't stick around a lot, even though there wasn't much going on in their lives these days in the way of big baddies stealing the show. He came and went, leaving for days at a time or sometimes longer…but he always came back. At first Dean had worried. Not about anything in particular, just in his experience, when there wasn't apocalypse levels of shit going on, why _wouldn't_ the angel sit back and relax with them while he had the chance? But then Sam had astutely observed one day that it just seemed like angels didn't do well inside stone walls and Dean had found he agreed. He’d tried to picture keeping a magnificent eagle in a little box. Hardly natural for the eagle, and he supposed it was the same for Cas.

It made even more sense now, after seeing him so uncomfortable at the inn in Whiterun. Unable to stretch or even really move his wings without knocking over a chair or touching a stranger. Had that been why Cas hadn’t wanted to bring his wings out at the bunker?

“We need to get back to the road,” Castiel suddenly announced, sharply redirecting their course to the right. 

Sam and Dean plodded after him, their own footfalls nearly silent on the soft bed of pine needles and young plants. Small boulders and rocks began to pop up, dotting the space between the pine trees. The farther they walked, the larger and closer together the stones became until Dean was having to move around them instead of just stepping over them, like there had been a landslide nearby a long time ago. 

When Cas slowed, his wings tensing at his back and spreading, Dean stumbled to a halt beside his brother. Cas was frozen ahead of them, standing between two trees, the low hanging branches grazing the rigid arches of his wings.

“Cas?” Sam whispered as quietly as possible.

Dean compulsively peered into the darkness around them but the gently swaying trees and bushes were constantly shifting, making it difficult to spot anything that may be hiding nearby. 

But then, just like that, Cas was relaxing, his wings folding down again.

“Sorry, I thought I heard something,” he explained as they began walking again. “I doubt the guards would have followed us this far but there are many dangerous things that -”

A furry brown _something_ came careening out of the bushes in front of Dean and he leapt back, his heart jamming itself into his throat as he reached over his shoulder and closed his fingers around the pommel of his greatsword.

Then his eyes caught up with his brain and he sagged, trying to calm his breathing because a fucking _fox_ was staring up at him stupidly, its bushy brown tail sticking straight out behind it in shock. Clearly it was just as surprised to see Dean.

Sam huffed an exasperated laugh off to his left and Cas had turned to see what all the commotion was about and, seeming to regain its survival instincts, the fox took off like a shot, panting little growly breaths with the effort to escape as fast as possible.

Dean swallowed, trying to get his heart back down where it belonged, and released the handle of his weapon as he and Sam exchanged embarrassed looks. At least he hadn't been the only one; it was a small consolation because Castiel was smirking at them, the tips of his wings twitching spastically.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled as he stomped past the angel. 

“I told you I heard something.”

They hadn’t been walking for long before the roaring sound of rushing water could be heard in the distance – faint at first but growing louder as they pressed on. Cas told them to follow the noise, as the road they wanted to be on hugged the edge of the same river they'd crossed going into Riverwood. Through a break in the tall trees, Dean – who was now inexplicably leading their little part even though he had no idea where the fuck he was going – saw the river in the moonlight, splashing and rushing through the jagged rocks along the shore line.

They had to hop off the edge of an eroded overhang to get back onto the road and Dean took a moment to look around. It was obvious the river sometimes flooded and spilled over the road, as the dirt had been washed away and had cut into the soft earth under the forest, exposing roots in gnarled tangles and washing away some of the stones in the road, leaving it patchy. His eyes swept back over the river and he grinned when he saw silvery fish jumping up the rapids.

Cas urged the brothers on with a soft call, taking the lead once more. Being out of the trees in the open road made it easier to see by the moonlight but also left them feeling exposed. Over the sound of the rushing rapids to their right and the rush of wind through the surrounding trees, no others sounds could be heard. Dean had to resist the urge to swivel his head like a top, trusting Cas to sense anything that he and Sam did not. He wasn't at all looking forward to having to walk through the woods for an entire night because even though he hunted monsters for a living the woods were just fucking _spooky_ in the dark.

But, as his luck would have it, a hundred yards up the road there was a wooden post stuck in the ground with two flat pieces of wood nailed to it. One pointed back the way they had come and had ' _Riverwood_ ' carved into it. The other pointed up the road and said ' _Helgen_ '.

“I think we should go to Helgen, after all,” Cas announced, once again changing their plans. “My knowledge of this area isn't as good as I would like to lead us through the woods without a path. I only had a look at the map on the inn keeper's table, sticking to the road may be best.”

“Plus,” Sam said, “You never know, we might find some useful information in Helgen.”

They continued on, the plan to cut around the base of the large mountain to the north-east abandoned. Dean was completely fine with that. 

The road was wide and the trio was walking shoulder to shoulder and Dean itched to fill the silence, not only because it gave any animals time to hear them coming.

“So, Cas, I've been wondering,” he started, just loud enough to be heard over the river. In his peripheral vision, he saw the angel glance in his direction. “When you were here before, how long ago was it?”

He'd been wondering because while it seemed like some things – the state of the civil war, for instance – were just as the angel remembered them, Cas seemed not to know any of the city or province names and it left Dean wondering how much time had passed. Civil wars could last through generations but changing the name of a city or territory happened even less often.

“About four hundred years ago,” Cas replied.

“So how come you know all about the Imperials and Stormcloaks but aren't familiar with the town names and stuff?”

“Oh, I should clarify. When last I was here, I was not in Skyrim, I was in Cyrodiil, which is where the Imperial race hails from. The Elder Council appealed to us after the Emperor – Uriel Septim – was assassinated when he tried to flee the city, running from the very faction that had murdered his two sons. We answered their call because we thought they wanted our help either settling their suddenly crippled government or to perhaps help them fight against the forces that had killed their leader. 

As it turned out, the council wished to use us as bounty hunters, to find and kill the man – a nameless prisoner – Uriel Septim had given the Amulet of Kings to. The Amulet would allow the heir to the throne the ability to light the Dragonfires that protected Cyrodiil from the Deadra. We refused to help them when we found out they wanted it for unsavoury purposes. Instead, we went in search of the truth of what was _really_ happening. The realm seemed to be at the start of a crisis. We eventually found the prisoner several months later, back in the Imperial City with Martin Septim, Uriel's heir. When we arrived, the city was in the process of being destroyed by an army of Deadra lead by Mehrunes Dagon himself, an approximate comparison to a Prince of Hell. 

We offered what help we could to the prisoner and to Martin, holding back the armies of Oblivion long enough for Martin to use his father's amulet to transform himself into the avatar of the Great Dragon God of Time, Akatosh. He slaughtered Dagon and banished his soul back to Oblivion. He saved Cyrodiil, and possibly all of Tamriel, but sacrificed his own life to do so – which was the cost of borrowing the power of Akatosh. The province was saved, but was left without an emperor to rule them. As a result, military factions and separatists began to butt heads and groups eventually bled out into the surrounding territories. When we finally left, whispers of a rebellion gathering in Skyrim had only just begun to circulate.”

Dean's head was spinning after the short recount of what seemed like a very exciting few months.

"So..." Sam said, sounding a little dazed, "That was like apocalypse-size trouble, then."

Cas nodded gravely. "If Dagon had been successful, Nirn would likely no longer exist."

It was very strange, hearing things like that, Dean realized. He was no stranger to apocalypses, that was for sure, but for some reason, finding out that there were similar problems all over the universe was...humbling. He wondered if Cas could sum up the apocalypses they had dealt with so succinctly. It didn't sound like such a big deal when it was all summarized from the point of view of an angel; it left Dean feeling disjointed and out of sorts.

Eventually, the road curved up towards the mountain and the river became choppy and loud, roaring off to their right and cutting through the rocks, making it a sheer, intimidating drop from the edge of the road down to the rapids. As they came around the bend, the horizon was suddenly clear through an opening in the trees and Dean nearly gasped. The lake feeding the river was laid out before them and it stretched for two miles between the sprawling mountain range they were climbing into. The water was still and calm and the reflection of the smaller moon on its surface was flawless. Pine trees were crammed into every inch of the meager shore line, the mountains seemed to have jumped straight out of the ground, and their snow-capped tops shone brightly in the moonlight.

By the time the two brothers finished gaping, Cas was far up the road, his white and tawny wings the only visible part of him in the dark. Both brothers had to jog to catch up.

Slowly but surely, the trio ambled up more switchbacks, leading them further into the mountains. The chill night air was clinging too close to Dean's skin now and with every step he took he felt it seep closer to his bones, making his muscles stiff and sore. He took a few deep breaths and willed his energy to hold just a little longer – though he had no idea when the angel planned on stopping. Or if he even remembered the poor humans struggling along behind him _needed_ to stop.

The higher they climbed the colder it got. The pine trees began to thin and the rocks and boulders poking from the ground got bigger and Dean was glad someone had taken the time to clear the way for a road because the thought of lifting his foot more than an inch off the ground seemed a far-off, impossible, goal. He'd had just about enough hiking for a lifetime but it was when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Sam lagging twenty feet behind that he decided enough was enough.

He stopped walking immediately and somehow that made his feet and legs ache more. Up ahead, the damn angel just kept on walking, like he could go on doing so for years, and Dean felt irrationally annoyed by it.

"Cas!" he snapped.

Sam came to a stop beside him, panting a little.

Castiel turned, blinking when he realized how far away they were, and then made his way back down the road to the brothers.

"We're tired,” Dean informed him simply, as soon as he was close enough to not need to shout. "We need to _sleep_."

Sam was nodding tiredly, hands on his hips as he caught his breath, and Cas looked between them.

"We cannot stop here, we don't have any equipment. Drink the potion I gave you,” he told them. "It will help."

Dean groaned as Sam started rummaging in his bag. He wanted a god damn bed not a friggin’ magical Red Bull. He eyed the green sludge sloshing around in the clear glass bottle as his brother pulled the stopper and sniffed it cautiously.

"Doesn’t really have a smell," Sam advised him. "Cheers," he muttered gravely before raising the bottle and tipping some down his throat.

A few seconds later his face scrunched up and he gagged with a full body shudder.

Dean's stomach sank but he couldn't help cracking a weak joke. "Good?"

Sam glowered and thrust the bottle at him.

For a moment Dean considered asking if Cas was really sure he couldn't spare a little mojo but then reeled it in because he was gonna be a god damn man about this.

He closed his eyes and swallowed a mouth full. It had the consistency of blended worms and tasted like the dirt they lived in and Dean nearly vomited it all back up, only managing to keep it down by sheer force of will, because if Sam could do it without puking then he'd die doing it too.

"That was worse than the dog hair thing," he gasped as soon as he was sure he could open his mouth without incident.

"Drink it all,” Cas ordered and Dean wanted to punch him in the face.

"You ever had one of these?!" Sam cried, gesturing to the bottle. It seemed a lot bigger now that he'd had a taste of its contents.

All they got in response was a roll of blue eyes. "Suck it up." Cas told them with an eerily accurate Dean-like sneer, but out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the tips of his wings twitch near the ground.

"It's not funny, Cas!" he snapped.

Cas’ full lips twitched. "It _works_. Do you not feel better already?"

Dean took a moment to take stock of himself and he was both happy and annoyed to realize that _yes_ , the potion was doing its job. The throb in his bones had vanished and his feet felt like he'd been off them all day. He flipped Cas the bird and swallowed another two mouthfuls, tossing the bottle to his brother to finish and then retching into the bushes.

Luckily nothing came up.

"Do you need this bottle?" Sam gasped, his face green.

Castiel shook his head. "No, get rid of it. One less thing we have to carry."

Sam smashed it on the ground.

Dean's stomach gave one last ominous heave and then settled. He _did_ feel better, like he'd just gotten eight full hours sleep, and as they continued their journey, the feeling intensified until he and Sam were both fidgeting and bouncing as they walked.

He felt warm now, like there was an electric current running through his veins instead of blood and he snapped his fingers, the urge to just fucking _move_ making him itch.

Sam was talking – had been talking for the last ten minutes solid – to Cas, who plodded on patiently and gave no indication he was either listening or particularly interested in what Sam was saying.

When Dean tuned in, it seemed his brother had decided to give the angel a blow by blow replay of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

"...so then you think holy shit, Gandalf's dead for _sure_ but then BOOM in comes Gandalf the White, at least eighty percent more bad ass than Gandalf the Grey and then Aragorn's like what the hell dude, we thought you were dead, we saw you fall and Gandalf's just like bitch please you think some burning lizard is going to take me down and then Legolas is all like -"

"Sam, shut up, _god_!" Dean snapped, his head buzzing like it was full of angry bees.

Sam exhaled in a whoosh; his eyes were the size of dinner plates. " _Man_ , I'm jacked up right now!"

Cas was eyeing them both warily. "I think just half the bottle next time."

It was hours later, when the sun was peeking sleepily over the top of the highest mountain peaks around them, that Dean started to feel somewhat normal again. They'd walked through the night without incident and without stopping and at one point had come to a fork in the road with a rickety sign confirming they were headed in the right direction. They'd followed the road to the left and had finally emerged high up on the mountain side. The road sat naturally between little bumps in the terrain and huge stones and the few trees that had managed to take root this far up.

When the first rays of dawn light were waking the world with grey-ish pink overtones, Dean and Sam rounded another gentle bend in the road to see Castiel crouching beside an enormous, dead tree trunk. The old tree was as big as a red wood but had been snapped off eight or so feet from the ground; jagged, weather-smoothed remnants of it's former glory jabbing into the air. The trunk was hollow now, likely serving as a makeshift den for many animals over the years, and Cas had his head stuck in it, wings twitching and flaring for balance every time he tried to reach deeper into the hollowed-out trunk.

The brothers barked a laugh at the sight and came to a stop behind the angel.

"What the hell are you doing, Cas?" Dean asked. He watched intently as he noticed Cas was using the large, bony joint of his right wing to brace against the opening of the trunk as he leaned farther in, the other wing tucked close to his side and half inside the trunk with the rest of his body.

Finally, he emerged from within the crumbling tree, still using the joint of his wing like an extra hand, using the trunk – which was apparently still quite sturdy – to push himself to his feet.

"You went in there to pick some flowers?" Sam asked.

Castiel had five or six purple flowers clutched in his hand. They had fat petals with tapered ends and little black leaves underneath them and something in the back of Dean's brain was telling him not to eat them.

"Night shade,” Cas informed them, carefully placing the flowers in the little pouch on his hip. "Relatively rare in this climate. They make a powerful toxin when combined with other ingredients."

Dean supposed there was a lot of reasons someone might want a poisonous concoction handy but Cas just didn't seem like the poisoning kind of guy.

"Why...do you want to make poison?"

"I put it on the tips of my arrows,” said the angel, brushing past them. "It's very effective in slowing enemies down. I learned that last time I was hear."

Dean was quite sure there was likely an epic story to go along with that tidbit of information but his brain got sidetracked when Cas' feathers all seemed to puff up at once, making the appendages so big that they actually hid the angel himself from view.

"Whoa," Sam said, his eyes glued to Cas.

They both watched with their mouths hanging open as Cas ruffled his feathers violently, shaking free a few pieces of bark from the tree he'd just crawled under and a whole lot of dust that shimmered around him in a cloud, caught in the morning sunlight. Then the feathers all smoothed down sleek and organized once more, and Cas was off, continuing up the road.

It was still weird, after all this time, after knowing Cas for so long, to be confronted with such an obvious reminder of the fact that Castiel was not at all human but another species entirely. It didn't bother Dean, per se, it was more like, every once in a while, he found himself thinking, _'oh...right_.' Though he supposed it wasn't nearly as strange now that he knew how many other intelligent species there really were. Humans were just one of many. _He_ was just one of many. Fucking elves and cat people and dragons...and god only knows what else. It was more comforting than it probably should be, knowing how special they _weren't_ ; knowing that no matter what planet they'd been born on that they'd have to deal with the same shit and that there were other people and other species going through the same things. 

The wheel keeps turning.

They'd climbed high enough now that patches of snow started appearing in the scrubby grass and bushes, making the colorful flowers still growing stubbornly from the ground a bit strange to look at. Up ahead, the road forked again, one path leading between jagged mountain tops and the other continuing on strait, following the sloping edge of the mountain. However, unlike last time, there was no sign there to direct them and the trio milled about undecided for a few moments.

Cas looked left and right several times, his frown deepening with every sweep of his eyes and Dean could see the pitch of his wings changing, the arches becoming sharper and higher as the angel folded them tighter in frustration.

"I'm going to fly ahead,” Cas suddenly informed them, still looking irritated by the lack of signage on the road.

Dean blinked, his gut swooping strangely. Cas was going to actually use his wings to fly and Dean was going to get to see it. 

Sam eagerly stepped forward.

"You two wait here,” Cas marched over to the edge of the road where the side of the mountain dropped away, so steep that only a few trees had managed to cling to the rocky slope, and his wings unfolded.

Dean was so ready to see Cas actually fly that he nearly tripped over his brother as the two of them scrambled to get a better vantage point but still kept them out of the reach of the enormous wing span. Something told him that, even though the wings were light, getting hit by one would probably give him a concussion.

When Cas' wings were fully spread, the white parts filtered the sun and somehow amplified the light instead of blocking it, leaving Dean squinting against the glare that was nearly as bright as a flare of grace.

Cas’ head suddenly snapped to the right and his whole body turned, wings remaining open and lifting slightly in a way that somehow seemed more aggressive. Something had clearly startled him and Dean shoved aside his disappointment, reaching up and pulling his greatsword free of its sheath as he turned to face whatever threat was coming at them.

He relaxed his grip only a little when he spotted a man and his horse ambling down the road towards them, looking for all the world like they had no place important to be.

Sam came to stand beside him, drawing himself up tall and threatening but leaving his axes alone for the time being.

The horse was huge and looked like a Clydesdale, mostly brown with patches of white and a huge saddle bag and bed roll strapped to its back. The man walking beside it was dressed in plain clothes – a faded green tunic, brown pants and simple boots – and he raised a soothing hand to the horses neck, though the animal looked far from concerned.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" the man called, waving and smiling disarmingly, uncaring of the angel and his magnificent wings or Dean and his intimidating sword.

Dean relaxed and only hesitated a second before sheathing his weapon. The guy seemed friendly enough and even if he tried something it was three against one...though the horse was eyeballing him pretty hard.

Castiel had brought his wings back in a bit, and kept them half folded and arched, stepping back onto the road.

"Good morning,” he rumbled cautiously.

"You lot look a little lost. Where're you headed?" the man asked. "Might be able to point you in the right direction." He had deeply tanned skin, the kind of tan an old farmer would have working every day in a field for years and years, and there were heavy lines around his eyes and mouth. But the gold and brown eyes that stared from under the rim of a floppy cloth hat were sharp and clever.

"We're trying to get to Helgen," Cas replied.

The man's look turned grim. "Not much left of the town, from what I hear. The dragon attack nearly destroyed it. I even heard it’s been over-run by bandits anyhow." He shook his head gravely. "Terrible business, that." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the road that lead deeper into the mountains. "But that road there will take you right to it. I hope you're not lookin' for anything valuable you might have left behind; those bandits will have picked the place clean by now."

Castiel remained silent and if the man was perturbed by it, it didn't show, and he continued smoothly.

"But if you're maybe lookin' for somethin' valuable _others_ have left behind, well, I might be able to save you the trouble of walkin' there." He patted the fat saddle bag resting on his horse's back. "I got all kinds of odds and ends. Orcish arrows, a soul gem or two. Enchanted necklace, some alto wine all the way from Markarth." He gave Dean a shrewd look. "You look like you enjoy a drink now and then, I'll give you a good deal. Three gold pieces for a bottle, whadaya say?"

"What do you mean, I look like I enjoy a drink now and then?" Dean snarked, crossing his arms over his armored chest and flexing.

"Something stronger, perhaps?" the man said silkily. "I've got skooma." He looked to Cas then. "And what about you, angel? I've got some moon sugar that'll knock even you off your rocker for a few hours."

"No. Thank you."

Castiel brushed past the man who merely shrugged and tugged on his horse’s reins and the two of them continued like they'd never stopped.

"Did we just meet a drug dealer?" Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder at the retreating man and horse.

It had certainly sounded like he was trying to sell them drugs.

The trio followed the road the drug dealer had told them to, having to side-step several ancient looking pillars that had collapsed onto the road, so long ago that they had sunk into the ground under years of freezing and thawing, dislodging at the cobblestone. There was no sign of the structure that they might once have belonged to. 

It was less than an hour later when the three of them crested a shallow incline and abruptly found themselves in front of the city of Helgen.

They were still two hundred yards back from the gates but it was clearly Helgen nestled between rocky outcrops and a few old, towering fir trees. The large wooden gates were tightly closed and the structure surrounding them had been destroyed in several places. The patch of roof over one of the watch towers had caved in, as if something very, very big had decided to use it as a perch. There was another watch-tower farther down the city wall that looked mostly unharmed but the narrow windows scattered around it were dark and lifeless.

As they drew closer, it was obvious no one had come to rebuild or reclaim the ruined city and nothing but silence rose from within the walls. Over the edges of the mangled fortifications, the wind howled, like a wolf warning them to stay away from its den.

With a shared glance, the trio pulled their weapons and continued up the road to the city gates.

* * *

Sam and Dean's armor (they don't have helmets tho)

[Stormcloak Armor](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/elderscrolls/images/8/85/Stormcloack_Armor.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20111107010013)

[Riverwood](https://i.redd.it/1grgdb3exar11.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Skyrim verse, Mehrunes Dagon has the same name as Dagon in Supernatural but they are not the same character. 
> 
> Please leave some feedback and let me know what you think of the story so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Michaela for beta reading <3

Cas stepped off the road and motioned for them to stick close and, together, the three of them disappeared into the surrounding shrubs and trees. They were sparse and not much for cover but they were better than nothing if a bandit happened to look out one of those windows or peek over the crumbling wall. 

They picked their way through the bushes, keeping their heads low, and made their way to the least damaged stretch of wall to the right of the city entrance. Once they reached the wall, they followed it over to the gates, stepping lightly and as quietly as they could in their still-foreign armor.

Cas' wings were arched up over his back in a position Dean had learned meant he was ready to spring at a moment’s notice. He tried his best to keep quiet, but he was used to doing his sneaking around in jeans and a flannel, not stiff leather and bulky fur. He hoped the leather would soften with constant use.

As they came back to the edge of the road, Dean looked up and spotted what was unmistakably a charred human corpse impaled on a stake to the right side of the gate, partially obscured by the bushes they were hiding in. Leaning over to see past Cas he grimaced, spotting another stake across the road, nothing but a rib cage and skull with gooey, decomposing flesh and muscle still dangling from the bones and flapping in the gentle breeze.

" _Gross_..." he muttered as they passed the disgusting effigies. It looked like the drug dealer had been right, they wouldn't find any allies here.

Cas stood between the effigies, running a hand over the iron claps that were keeping the gates closed before giving a little push at the doors. They didn't so much as budge, which meant they had probably been magically sealed. Even so, he gave up quicker than Dean probably would have, gesturing for the brothers to follow as he skirted the skewered corpse and continued following the wall into a stand of pine trees. The wall curved sharply to the right and, on their left, the base of a small, rocky hill boxed them in.

They crept along the muddy footpath trampled into the ground, keeping an eye out for patrols. Whoever had set up camp inside the ruined city was obviously making frequent trips around the perimeter.

Dean looked up at a crack in the wall over his head just in time to trip over something, stumbling and making his armor creak and his scabbard rattle.

Cas glared at him from ahead and he could feel Sam’s bitch face boring into the back of his skull, but Dean was too busy picking up the axe he’d just tripped over.

It had a simple wooden handle and iron head but the sharp edge was coated in dried blood and, farther up the path, Cas smoothly stepped over the body it likely belonged to, turning at another bend in the wall to the right and disappearing.

Sam shoved at him when he glanced down at the girl’s corpse, the glint of silver around her pale, bloodless neck catching his eyes. It looked expensive...and they kind of needed gold.

"What are you doing?" Sam hissed, sounding scandalized when he saw Dean reaching for the dead woman's jewelry. " _Dean_!"

"Hey, it's not like she needs it anymore!" he whispered harshly, yanking the chain and snapping it off her neck. The stiff body jerked and his stomach heaved. No matter how many times he dealt with bodies it was always a little gross. "We can sell it for some good coin because I don’t know about you, but I intend to keep eating while we’re here. Now come on!"

He tried not to stomp off after Cas, shoving the necklace into the little satchel at his hip. When they caught up to the angel, he was crouched low against the wall, about fifty yards ahead, wings still arched high and stiff over his back. He and Sam came up beside him, pressing close to his side to stay hidden, only just realizing there was a wide opening in the wall and a set of gates thrown wide open. They’d reached the other side of Helgen.

Cas leaned forward, peeking around the edge of the open gates and into the demolished city and when he pulled back, he held up three fingers to let them know there were three baddies just inside the doors. He pulled the bow off his back and an arrow from his quiver, notching it before abruptly dashing across the road and crouching on the other side, one knee to the ground, his left wing joint braced against the wall for stability while the other was folded against his back, out of the way. 

Cas raised his bow, drawing it back to his cheek and then, fixing the brothers with a pointed look, he jerked his head towards the open gates.

With a chance to finally use the giant sword he'd been lugging around, Dean grinned back at Sam and his brother nodded with a grin of his own. 

Guns a' blazin' it was.

They leapt from their hiding spot, drawing their weapons and roaring loud enough to make the closest bandit jump from the fright alone.

There wasn't much time to register the mangled buildings and ruble or the scorched earth and lingering smell of burnt wood; Dean charged forward, swinging his sword back just as the guy closest to him – dressed out in some very well-used furs – held up a rickety looking longsword with an unhinged expression. Any thoughts of trying to talk the guys down went out the window when something whistled sharp and loud past Dean's ear. One of Castiel's arrows was embedded in the second bandit's left eye socket and they all stopped to watch him crumple to the ground.

"Is that all you've got?" a monstrous man with green skin and an impressive amount of muscle definition drew Dean’s attention for a split second. The hulk of a man leapt towards Sam, swinging a great sword like it was no heavier than a small stick.

Knowing he would be unable to stop the brute force of the man’s first swing, Sam threw himself to the ground, deflecting a second downward blow of the sword with a swing of his axe, and then rolled to his feet while the bandit regained his balance.

But Dean had to shift his focus back to his own – thankfully smaller and more human-looking – opponent. He side-stepped a charge from the little crazy guy, the dodge requiring very little effort, and simply bashed the pommel of his sword into the back of the bandit’s greasy head, smirking when he hit the dirt like a sack of potatoes.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, rolling out of the way of another swing from his hulking attacker.

Dean wasted no time jumping into the fray, but had to leap back out of the way of the sword tip immediately when it nearly grazed his chest. Sam was on his feet again, swinging one of his axes down through the air. The green man deflected the blow with a casual movement of his elbow, not so much as loosening his grip on the pommel of his sword and making a stab for Sam’s chest that he only just managed to twist away from.

Dean swung his sword around, the weight of the steel making it feel like he was moving under water. His attempt was also casually knocked aside and when the green man grinned at him, it revealed a row of sharp teeth.

When the beast lunged for him, Dean couldn’t lift his sword fast enough, and his opponent rammed his shoulder into Dean’s chest, sending him flying through the air and onto his back where he promptly lost the sweaty grip on his sword.

It felt like an elephant had just headbutted him in the sternum. He couldn’t breathe and stared up at the clouds in the sky without seeing them, trying and failing to haul air into his shuttering lungs. 

Rolling on to his side, he saw Sam in the dirt far out of reach, blood pouring from a shockingly wide gash on his temple.

Dean scrambled on his belly, trying to call out to Sam, to warn him about the hulking green mass moving towards him. However, with the wind still thoroughly knocked out of him, no sound escaped his throat.

Another red-plumed arrow cut through the air between Dean and his brother and the beast of a man went rigid. His greatsword slipped from suddenly dead hands and then he toppled backwards, a single arrow protruding from one eye.

Dean finally got to his feet and staggered over to his brother, who was propping himself up on one elbow looking dazed, the cut on his temple coating the side of his face with blood.

"What – what the hell was that thing?" Sam gasped, trying to catch his breath. Both his axes seemed to have vanished and he distractedly glanced around, gaze blank.

Dean crashed to his knees and grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Sammy, take it easy.” He tried to get a look at the cut, his stomach cramping with worry with how slurred his brother’s words were.

After taking a blow to the chest from that giant he could only imagine the damage he could do to someone’s head. He tried to remind himself that headwounds, even minor ones, always bled like a stuck pig.

“Cas!” He called over his shoulder, but the angel was already walking up to them. Bow still in hand and wings half folded. There was a frown etched deeply into his face as he crouched down beside Sam, who’s eyes were fluttering.

“Stay awake, Sam!” Dean ordered, trying to ignore the stabs of pain from what were likely several bruised ribs.

Castiel quickly reached out with one hand and pressed two fingers to the center of Sam’s forehead, bowing his head and closing his eyes in concentration while Dean kept his brother upright.

The immense pressure in Dean’s chest eased when he saw the wide split in Sam’s skin start to knit itself back together but frowned when Cas’ hand remained in place well after it had disappeared. 

It was several long seconds later when the angel finally pulled his hand away and Sam was blinking rapidly, looking much more aware of his surroundings than he had a moment ago.

“Wow,” Sam breathed, closing his eyes and stretching out onto his back. “Thanks, Cas.” He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“You good? He good now?” Dean asked, looking between the two of them. Just to be sure. Absently, he rubbed his hand against his chest, willing away the growing bruises he could already feel.

Castiel’s look was grave. “Sam’s brain was hemorrhaging, I have repaired all the damage, but that was a very traumatic head injury. I’m sorry, I should have briefed you more thoroughly on the types of enemies we may be facing here.”

Looking like he’d just accidentally ran over Sam’s puppy, Cas gently placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed.

Dean swallowed, sharing a look with his brother. There was still blood coating the side of Sam’s face and he was pale with shock but otherwise unharmed. 

Talk about a wakeup call. 

Dean looked behind him, to where his sword lay useless in the dirt. It had held him back. It was too heavy for him to use effectively and it had almost cost Sam his life.

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Sam was assuring the angel sincerely. 

Cas didn’t look convinced. 

“Yeah, I’m the one with eyes bigger than my muscles,” Dean cracked with a grin that faltered immediately. “You saved our bacon, Cas.”

Dean cleared his throat and stood, taking a few steps over to the hulking monster that had almost killed them and leaned over the thing with a frown, doing his best to ignore the twinge in his chest. 

The…guy? He looked like a normal guy, other than the green skin and protruding lower jaw. And the extra pointy teeth. And he was more jacked than Arnold Schwarzenegger in his glory days.

"It’s an Orc,” Castiel informed them. He grabbed Sam under the arm and pulled him to his feet, lingering until he was sure Sam wasn’t going to fall over.

"Good aim,” Dean mumbled, impressed with how perfectly centred the arrow was in the Orc’s eye socket. It had hit with enough force to imbed itself well into the brain and Dean felt a twist of satisfaction at that.

It was only then that he noticed a second arrow embedded in the man’s chest, right over his heart. It had taken two fatal blows to take him down.

He stared down at the dead Orc a moment longer, taking in every detail of the strange new enemy.

This was different, he realized for what felt like the hundredth time since they’d gotten here. This wasn't like anything they’d ever done before. Sure, they knew how to kill monsters...with guns and knives and sometimes a little magic. And they’d killed more monsters than he could ever hope to keep track of. But this...this was different. Somehow. In a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on and it left him shaken by something other than the fading adrenaline.

Perhaps it was knowing that, if it weren't for Cas, he and his brother might just be dead. Already. After their very first encounter with another intelligent species.

Cas stood on the other side of the body and wrenched the arrow from his eye with a sickening squelch, shaking off some of the...juices and then ripped the second arrow out of the Orc's chest, sliding them back into his quiver.

After Sam’s legs stopped shaking, the trio finally took a moment to look around.

The town was ruined. There wasn't a single house left standing and piles of the city wall had spilled into what was left of the streets. Wooden beams jutting out from collapsed houses were charred black and, if he looked closely, Dean could see a burned hand under a pile of rubble not too far away, fingers curled in agony. 

He looked away, only for his gaze to fall on the remains of what was clearly a small child.

They moved cautiously and quietly through the destruction, eyes and ears open. They found Sam’s axes halfway across the clearing and Dean regrettably picked up his sword, hoping he could find something more practical soon. Cas had another arrow notched, the bow held half ready to go in front of him, wings tense and spread slightly at his back.

The sound of fabric flapping in the breeze made them all jump, but it was just a wind-shredded banner high up on a pole that had somehow escaped the fires.

Over the edge of a mutilated rooftop, a thin cloud of smoke rose into the air, where it was carried away on the wind as soon as it reached the top of the city wall. Rounding what was left of the corner or a house, they found themselves overlooking a small court yard, in the centre of which was a big, square stone with an overturned basket next to it. There were squat iron bowls full of still burning coals at the base of a tall watch tower that still stood sturdily on its foundations despite the damage it had taken.

With a quick glance around to make sure there were no more bandits, Castiel moved quickly to the stone block, of all things, and the brothers followed, looking this way and that across the wide-open area.

"It's a chopping block," Cas declared solemnly. He pointed. "See how the stone is stained red."

The color was faint but it was there, along with half a dozen deep groves where the axe swinger had been a little too enthusiastic. The basket was probably there to catch the heads.

"Look,” Sam said, bending to pick at something that had been trampled into the mud. He pulled it free. "Rope." They'd been hastily cut, the edges severed like someone had sawed through them in a panic. "Our prisoner theory is looking more and more likely."

They moved to the open archway leading into the base of the tower, seeing fur bed rolls matted with blood and a rickety table sitting at the base of a spiraling stone staircase. There were a few clean-ish cloths sitting on top and Sam grabbed one to rub most of the blood off his face. Halfway up the tower, the wall was blown out and Dean peered over the edge curiously, able to see through the roof of what had used to be an inn.

When they reached the top, the wind cut at them and Dean finally sheathed his sword when Sam put away his axes.

Castiel's bow stayed in his hands as he moved closer to the edge of the tower and, though he peered over the side, he didn't raise it to shoot.

Another breath-taking view sprawled out in front of them and Dean let his gaze wander. He could see the road they would keep following after they were done here, only visible for a short distance before it disappeared into a surprisingly thick patch of fur trees, the tallest of which had a soft dusting of snow on their upper branches. Not too far above that, the snow was thick and clinging to the sides of the mountains.

When he turned to walk to the opposite edge of the tower, shoving aside the thought of having to deal with snow, the first thing his eye caught was a strange looking structure. It was far, far in the distance, built into the side of another mountain. Three huge stone arches grouped close together in front of – he squinted – an unnaturally smooth rock face, chiseled from the surrounding stone. It was too far away to make out much else, but Dean itched with curiosity.

He let it go, letting his eyes sweep over the jagged, snow-capped mountain peaks stabbing at the sky all around them. There wasn't much else to see, it seemed they were too deep in the mountains now and the valleys and rolling plains they had left behind were well out of sight.

After that they poked around the abandoned city a while longer at Castiel's insistence but found no other clues that would help them find the Dragonborn other than the chopping block – and even that was a stretch and didn’t add anything useful to their knowledge.

Once they were back at the open gates, Dean inspected the rusted sword of the bandit he had taken down earlier, hoping it might be a good replacement for his greatsword. But the blade was dull and sat, loose in the pommel. It was no good. The Orc’s greatsword was even bigger and heavier than Dean’s and the third bandit – the one Cas had immediately taken out with his first arrow – had nothing but a cheap looking bow.

He resigned himself to keeping the sword a bit longer. It was better than nothing.

Finally, they left through the same doors they had entered. Just up the road from the city there was another wooden sign stuck in the ground. It looked in danger of falling over, leaning heavily to one side, but the words carved into the planks were still perfectly clear.

Ivarstead and a town called Riften were in the same direction, though one unmarked trail split off sharply to the right, disappearing into a thick stand of trees.

The afternoon sun was climbing upwards, but clouds were gathering to intercept it. In the small patch of sky between the mountains on either side of them turned grey as they trudged along. Sooner than seemed natural, heavy clouds had blocked out the sun, leaving the trio to push along the road under the promise of a storm.

The wind picked up and turned bitter and Dean scowled when the first few white flakes fluttered angrily against his face. All at once, his energy seemed to vanish and he actually stumbled, his stomach aching hungrily and his feet sore and tired. Under his armor, he was sure his chest was black and blue already and even breathing was starting to hurt. He briefly considered asking the angel to take a look but decided against it. Cas had already used his grace to heal what would have been a fatal head injury in Sam. Dean could handle a few bruises. 

Besides, he scolded himself, it was his own fault for buying that ridiculous sword.

He could make it to their next stop. All he needed was some rest and he knew they were going to have to stop soon.

Sam groaned behind him, loud enough to make Cas turn and look.

“I'm so hungry…”

A little frown passed over the angel's face, like he only just remembered that his two traveling companions were humans and needed much more frequent rest stops and sustenance than he was used to.

Already feeling like a liability because of his overzealous choice in weaponry, it made Dean scowl.

"How much farther, Cas?" he barked. 

Castiel's eyes darted between them and then around at the surrounding trees, quite obviously searching for something.

"The next sheltered area we find," he told them. "Keep your eyes open."

He pressed on and the brothers forced themselves to follow. It was less than an hour later when Sam stopped and pointed into the trees uncertainly, all three of them squinting against the blowing snow. 

There were two horses tied to a tree not far from the road, saddled with supplies, their tails flicking lazily, seemingly unperturbed by the building storm. They were hefty creatures, just like the drug dealer’s horse had been, and they looked like they could handle a harsh winter.

"Friendly or unfriendly, do you think?" Dean asked as Cas came to stand beside them. There was nothing obvious about the horses that told them anything – good or bad – about their owners.

The angel was frowning hard at the two animals and his wings were stiff and sleek at his back. 

"Wait here," he ordered firmly. "Stay out of sight." 

He slipped into the trees beside the horses and disappeared. Sam and Dean moved off the road and found a spot on the ground that didn't have snow on it thanks to the sheltering branches of a droopy pine tree. They both sat down gingerly, groaning through their respective aches and pains.

They didn't speak, only listened to the wind building from a whisper to a howl around them, and tried not to fall asleep. 

Dean had no idea how much time had passed by the time Cas finally came back, but it couldn't have been long. He strode from the trees, wings relaxed now, and beckoned for them to follow. He led them past the two horses – who didn't spare them a glance – and up a small hill where three sturdy tents materialized into view among the trees.

The tents were made of several layers of animal hides thrown over simple wood frames. They looked solid enough to hold up to some strong winds but, in the trees, the air was relatively calm. Each tent had a bed roll and thick, heavy looking blankets and furs laid out and there was a soldier sound asleep in the tent closest to Dean's left. Two other soldiers were sitting around a large fire pit, on which they were roasting something Dean didn't recognize. 

He silently thanked whatever gods might be listening out here that they would not have to build a fire themselves and sleep in the snow.

One soldier was sitting on a thick chopping log and the other was standing with his back to the three of them, half a loaf of bread in one hand.

They were dressed differently than the guards from Whiterun and Riverwood. A well-padded tunic covered their chain mail and looked like it would be much more effective against the cold, and each of them had a deep navy-blue fabric wrapped around their necks and then smoothed down their front and back, held in place by their belt and weapon straps. It looked like it was made of tightly woven wool and it added an extra layer that was very much needed up here in the mountains. Dean wondered if they might have a few to spare. 

He jealously eyed their thick trousers and fur-lined bracers. He wasn’t feeling that cold yet, but his fingers felt a little stiff when he wiggled them.

None of these soldiers had their helmets on, but Dean could see one sitting outside each tent. Unlike the Whiterun soldiers, their helmet faces were open, and each one had a set of small, pointed horns on top.

The soldier on the stump gave them a nod when Cas walked over.

"Evening, travelers. Your friend tells us you've just passed through Helgen," he said with a grave look. "We tried to smoke the bandits out just last week but no luck. They're were a tricky bunch."

The second solider remained silent, giving Dean and Sam both a sidelong look as he slowly chewed his bread.

Dean was reluctant to say anything, irrationally worried that as soon as he opened his mouth they would know he was from another planet. Luckily Cas came to their rescue.

“We're travelling to Ivarstead, but the weather seems to have turned on us."

The guard smiled with a sage nod. "Up here in the mountains, the weather can drop from the sky like a rock. And it gets worse the farther up you go. The storm should pass by morning, so if you're looking for a bed or two for the night, you'll want to talk to Thorygg." The man gestured off to their right. "He's in the big, fancy tent at the top of the hill."

Castiel expressed their thanks and the three of them climbed the small hill. There was a larger tent sitting there and Dean could only assume that Thorygg was the commander of the little encampment. The larger tent was dome shaped and held only a sturdy wood table in the center and a cast iron fire bowl in the corner for light and warmth.

And, of course, Thorygg himself. He was a big, muscular man with blonde hair pulled back from his hard face in a braid. He wore _actual_ bear arms – with the claws still in them – around his neck like a scarf and fur armor that somehow managed to look even more intimidating than it did cozy.

He was leaning against the table, his large hands braced on its weathered surface, as he stared down at a map of the area. He straightened when Cas walked through the open flap, sharp blue eyes taking in the angel and his two companions.

"One of my men said they'd seen Aldis and Holgier talking to a man with wings." Thorygg's eyes flicked over Cas' shoulder and then swept over both Sam and Dean respectively.

"It's been a long time since I heard about angels in Tamriel. Legend has it that last time you were here it was because the world was in crisis." He crossed his massive arms over his chest, fixing Castiel with a hard stare. "Tell me, angel...are you here now for the same reason?"

Castiel's chin lifted minutely and Dean's fingers twitched with the urge to pull his sword.

"I am here because the Greybears called for my aid."

Thorygg relaxed just a little. "The Greybeards are not concerned with politics; you must be here for the dragons."

The coals in the iron bowl crackled quietly and Castiel regarded the man with narrowed eyes. "We've not allied with the Imperials, if that is your concern."

Apparently, those were the magic words, because Thorygg relaxed, coming round to lean against the table with an easy smile.

"That is good to hear! Mindless draugr, the lot of them...don't know how to think for themselves." He chuckled.

Something close to a smirk pulled at Cas’ lips. "As a general rule, I usually fight against the governing establishment."

Thorygg grinned wide. "Then you and I will be good friends!" He stood and slapped Cas on the shoulder. "What are your names, my friends?"

"My name is Castiel and this is Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Brothers! I have a brother, myself. A few summers younger. I tried to get him to join the rebellion but he wants no part of it. Off in Kynesgrove farming cows." The man shook his head with some fondness. "But I am boring you. Come, what do you need, tell me! Food? Beds? Weapons? How about you, young man? You look as if you have taken a blow to the head." 

Thorygg gestured at Sam, his eye lingering on the dried blood matted in to his hair that he hadn’t been able to wipe out with the cloth.

Sam smiled, looking exhausted in the warm glow of the fire bowl. “I’m alright, just tired.”

"Food and beds would be much appreciated," Castiel rumbled.

"Of course! Of course! Follow me!"

Thorygg lead them through the small camp, weaving between more tents and trees and bushes, none of which had been cut down or cleared away for the sake of camouflage. Snow was gathering on the limbs of the tall trees around them and on the ground and Dean felt goosebumps rising on his arms against the growing chill. 

They came to a small clearing with two bigger tents and a smithy's work area that was mostly just a thoroughly abused anvil and a rudimentary forge for repairing weapons. 

Dean eyed a pile of dirty, bloody rags piled on a table outside one of the tents, but the flap was closed and he couldn’t see inside.

"Our quartermaster has a few weapon supplies, arrows and the like," he added, winking at Cas. "And there's an alchemy station outside the medical tent if you do that sort of thing."

"I do, thank you." There was a hint of relief in Cas' voice and the angel hurried over to inspect the table Thorygg pointed to. It was sitting between two large, domed tents, about waist high with a few glass beakers, an old mortar and pestle and a small burner that looked like it hadn’t been fired up in about a hundred years. 

"This tent here," Thorygg said, patting the thick wall of one of the tents, “Is our backup medical tent but, thank Talos we haven't needed it yet. There are already three bed rolls set up in here that you can have for the night and if you want something to eat, talk to Aldis again, he's in charge of rations."

"Thank you, Thorygg. How can we repay your kindness?" Castiel asked sincerely as he rejoined them.

Thorygg seemed about to wave them away but then thought better of it, a thoughtful look passing over his weather-lined face.

"You're an alchemist, you say?"

"I have some basic skills."

Thorygg scratched at his chin. "Well, the soldiers and I don't know a whole lot about mixing potions and we're nearly out of some basics. We have a barrel full of ingredients but none of us knows what to do with them."

"What do you need?"

"A few health reagents and something to clear out common sickness and diseases, if you could. Then we'll call it square."

Castiel extended his hand with a smile. "Deal."

They shook on it and then Thorygg clapped his hands together, "I'll leave you to it then!"

Cas turned to the brothers and gently pushed at their shoulders. "Go. Sleep. I will wake you in the morning for breakfast and then we’ll go."

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He silently disappeared into the tent.

"You should sleep too, Cas," Dean said, eyeing the plain ring on the angel's finger. "You didn't get that boost from that nasty potion like we did and you healed Sam. I know you’re feeling it."

He could tell, because Cas’ wings gave him away. Normally he held them folded tightly to his back, rigid and in control, but somewhere on the road that had led them away from Helgen, the angel’s wings had started to droop.

Castiel offered him a small smile and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "I will sleep later, Dean."

He turned his back to the brothers, moved to the potions table, and started rummaging through his satchel.

With a last look at the back of Castiel’s wings, Dean followed his brother, knowing that Cas could take care of himself and feeling such a bone-deep exhaustion creeping up his legs that he was going to pass out if he didn't lay down soon anyway.

When he ducked through the flap, it was surprisingly warm inside. Another iron fire bowl was sitting on the ground in the center of the tent and the three bed rolls had been placed around it, far enough away that a sleeper wasn’t going to accidentally roll in to it. There was no smoke, only heat, and it seeped down into Dean's muscles and bones, easing some of the ache there.

He didn't even bother taking off his armor, just his sword, and flopped down belly first on the bedroll opposite Sam and was out cold in seconds.

* * *

Way, way, _way_ too soon, Dean was jarred awake by the sound of someone smashing a hammer onto the steel anvil outside and he groaned into the soft leather animal skins under his face.

"Fucking kidding me...?" He flopped onto his back, the few metal buckles in his armor digging painfully into his back and urging him to sit up. 

He managed it with a great deal of effort, biting his tongue through a flare of pain that swept through his chest muscles as he moved.

Sam was already kneeling on his bed roll, rubbing his eyes, hair a wild nest around his head. One side sticky and tangled with dry blood. He made a disgusted noise when he absently tried to run his fingers through his hair and then gingerly began trying to comb through the mats with his fingers.

At the centre of the tent, the coals were still burning steady and hot in their bowl. Dean chose to assume magic was the reason behind their longevity, instead of the alternative of someone coming in to the tent to stoke them in the night.

He didn’t like the idea of being so exhausted that he hadn’t woken up to a stranger in their tent.

"Oh my god," Sam huffed a groggy laugh, abandoning his futile attempt to fix his hair. "Dean, look."

He turned his head and saw Cas on the third bed roll that was placed along the back of the tent.

Well, that is to say, he could see Cas' _wings_ but he couldn't see Cas himself. It looked like he’d used one wing like a mattress and curled up on top of the soft feathers, and then was using the other like a blanket, cocooning himself in a feathery wing pod. Most shocking of all, were his feathers, which were all fluffed up like Dean had seen birds do when they dozed or when it was especially cold out. With every breath Cas took, his wings moved up and down slightly.

It was a stark contrast to the sleek and agile wings they had been looking at since they’d gotten here and Dean felt himself blinking stupidly at the slumbering angel while he tried hard to reconcile the two opposing forms Cas could apparently take.

There was the usual stoic, confused by pop-culture, angelic warrior Castiel that Dean had known and fought beside for so many years and then now there was…this.

This giant, soft, fluffy chickadee in the corner.

Dean couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face even if he’d tried. He felt the simultaneous urge to mercilessly tease the angel and to go stand protectively outside the tent to make sure no one disturbed his rest. 

"He’s so _fluffy_ ,” Sam managed to whisper through the effort he was putting in to not giggling like a little girl. He clapped his hands over his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. The sleep had done his brother some good and, despite the blood in his hair, he looked well-rested.

Dean rolled his eyes but still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He shook his head fondly, waiting for Sam to get himself under control. Absently, the memory of Cas’ feathers brushing the backs of his hands when Dean caught him in the field flashed through his mind and he looked over again.

The browns and beiges looked like the color of honey in the warm glow of the burning coals.

"I guess we should wake him up," Sam eventually said. "Don't know how he slept through the sound of that hammer. You get him up, I'm gonna go find us something to eat." Sam stood and stumbled out of the tent, momentarily blinding Dean with sunlight when he pulled the flap aside.

Apparently, the storm was over.

Sam muttered about the temperature as he moved away from the tent and Dean was left staring down at the ball of feathers to his left. He bit his lip. Normally he woke Sam by smacking him on the arm or simply yelling at him to wake up. That just didn’t seem like the right way to treat an _actual_ sleeping angel. 

Tentatively, Dean shuffled over to Cas' on his knees, the cold earth seeping through his thin trousers, and reached a hand out to gingerly touch Cas’ wing.

His hand sunk down into the soft – like friggin’ cashmere – feathers a good few inches before he hit warm, solid muscle and he reflexively pulled his hand back. 

It felt strangely intimate to deliberately touch Cas’ wing. When the angel had passed out in the field after landing, they’d had to use some rope to tie his wings up so they could safely carry him across the terrain. So, of course, they had touched him, but it had been out of necessity, it had been unavoidable, and it hadn’t felt any different than any of the many, many times they had lifted him into the Impala when he was hurt or heaved him onto a bed when he was unconscious. 

But this…this was _part_ of Cas. Part of the _real_ Cas.

It was only now that Dean realized that all the times he’d given the angel a hug or patted him on the shoulder…that he hadn’t actually been touching _Cas_. He’d only been touching his vessel.

When the angel didn’t stir, Dean reached out again, telling himself that it was no big deal, that Cas wouldn’t mind. He needed to wake Cas up. There was no reason this touch couldn’t _also_ be out of necessity.

He let his hand press down into the feathers again, until he felt the warmth of muscle and bone pressing back against his hand.

"Cas..." he eventually managed, clearing his throat so his voice wasn’t so gruff. "Cas, wake up, man." He curled his fingers when Cas still didn't stir, barely able to feel the silky down feathers ghosting over his skin like air.

" _Cas_."

An especially deep inhale told Dean he'd finally woken and the wing under his hand became animated. He felt the muscle flex under his fingers and all the feathers deflated a little, laying flatter but not nearly as sleek as they normally were when Cas was awake. Then Cas was pushing his wing up, into Dean's hand, and back so he could peek sleepily through the gap between them.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Dean grinned, quickly pulling his hand back.

Cas' eyes were barely open but the sliver of deep blue glittered like gems in the orange sunlight filtering through the hide walls. Dean’s gaze was pulled down by movement and he saw that Cas was absently fidgeting with his own feathers, twirling one slowly around his finger like someone might absently twirl a strand of hair. He’d taken his armor off from the waist up, as well as his boots, and looked like he’d had a much more comfortable sleep than Dean had.

"Ready to hit the road?" Dean chuckled, partially to distract himself from the very intimate moment. He felt like he’d open the door to Cas’ bedroom without knocking and found him naked.

Cas turned his face into the wing he was laying on, grumbling.

"Come on, Cas…"

In all honesty, Dean was somewhat mesmerised by this new side of Cas – it was like seeing a majestic Doberman roll over and show you its belly – and he could have easily sat and observed the angel sleeping for a while longer but…well he was already feeling pretty creepy about the watching he’d already done and they had places to be and people to hunt down. So, he pushed at Cas' wing insistently until Cas groaned and pulled it against his back on his own, rolling to his knees and folding the other.

" _Fine_ ,” Cas ground out, his voice even lower and grumblier than normal.

"Sam went to get food," Dean announced to fill the silence.

Cas ignored him as he ducked out of the tent, leaving his armor sitting near the flap, right beside his bow, quiver and three glass bottles with brightly colored and highly questionable contents.

He followed the angel out into the morning sun and cursed. It was _cold_. The crisp air woke him instantly and he rubbed his hands together to keep the cold at bay as he glanced around the small camp for his brother, wondering if he’d managed to coax any more rations out of Aldis with his lethal puppy dog eyes.

He stopped just behind Cas, standing barefoot and bare-chested, wearing nothing but his leather pants and a grumpy expression. The fact that there was a thin layer of frost on the ground didn’t seem to phase him.

Cas spread his wings high over his head, all seven feet straining into the air. The four-foot-long flight feathers fanned out like swords and the way they caught the sunlight made the white parts glow brightly. Cas' arms were straining over his head too, back muscles flexing. Then he relaxed with a groan, folding his wings to his back and ruffling them violently, shaking out all the feathers and then settling them back into place, sleek and clean.

Cas turned back around and made an _'out of my way'_ gesture in Dean's general direction and the hunter stepped aside, watching, slack-jawed, as Cas ducked back into the tent.

He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his armpits for warmth. "I'm gonna go find Sam," he informed Cas through the wall of the tent before heading through the trees and back to the fire. 

Sam was sitting cross-legged on the ground, talking and laughing along with all three soldiers and Thorygg by the fire.

"Come, Dean!" Thorygg called boisterously when he spotted the older Winchester. "You must be starving...we have mead and a little meat."

Sam was already halfway through his own bowl of food, so it couldn't have been too bad. Though, Dean reflected, taking stock of his own body, he was so hungry they could have given him a piece of bark to chew on and he'd have thanked them and devoured it. As it was, he was handed a simple wooden bowl in which he found a plain baked potato, a hunk of bread and some kind of charred mystery meat.

It was the most delicious thing to ever touch his damn tongue.

Mere minutes later, when he set the bowl aside, he felt like a new person.

"Travelling with a non-human isn't much fun," One of the soldiers, Dean was almost certain it was Aldis, remarked with a knowing look. "Holgier and I once crossed the entirety of Skyrim from Markarth to Riften with a Kajiit caravan." He shook his head. "They never tire, hardly need to eat and then go and forget two of the members of their group aren’t damn cats."

Holgier punched his shoulder with a shit-eating grin, "You're just sore you couldn't even keep up with a bunch of overgrown kittens."

"They used magic, I tell you!" Aldis exclaimed, he'd obviously given the issue much thought. "No one could walk that many days in a row without some magical interference."

Sam chuckled. "I dunno, Cas could probably give them a run for their money. He never seems to get tired."

"Your angel friend?" Aldis asked. "I've heard their ability to endure is incredible. My grandfather used to tell us stories about when the angels were here in Tamriel, how they helped save the Imperial City and held off the forces of Oblivion long enough for Martin Septim to vanquish Mehrunes Dagon."

"They should have let the city burn," the third soldier, who had thus far remained silent, suddenly snarked.

There was a tense moment, where only the pops and cracks of the fire could be heard.

Thorygg had fixed the third soldier with an icy stare. "Oh?" he asked, low and dangerous. "And let the reach of Oblivion's _poison_ leach into the rest of Tamriel? If Septim hadn't sacrificed what he had, Skyrim would likely not even exist - _I'm not having this argument with you again_!" he barked when the soldier opened his mouth.

It snapped shut but he glared at the blonde-haired man, who seemed not to care.

Castiel broke what would have likely been a pretty awkward silence by appearing from between the trees, fully kitted in his armor once more, his bow and arrow heads peaking over one shoulder.

"Do you want something to eat, Castiel?" Thorygg asked, standing. "We have some bread and cheese left."

"No, thank you, Thorygg, I will be fine."

After a few more moments of less tense chit-chat, Thorygg rose and headed back towards his big tent on the hill.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean rose and followed him, able to feel Castiel’s gaze on his back.

He caught up with the man in his tent and cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I was wondering if I could ask you one more favor. Well, more of a trade.”

Thorygg arched on thick brow, intrigued. “Oh? 

Dean summarized their little scuffle with the bandits in Helgen the day before with color rising in his cheeks. 

“Anyway, long story short I, uh, I couldn’t swing this thing fast enough and it almost got my brother killed. You got anything you might want to trade for it?”

Thorygg took the greatsword when Dean handed it to him. He pulled it from its sheath, examined the blade closely, then nodded firmly. 

“This is a decent weapon. I don’t have anything that can match it in value of gold but certainly in value of durability.”

He took Dean back to their smithy. The man that had woken them all with his hammer was covered from head to toe in soot and grime, but, at Thorygg’s order, moved to open a large wooden trunk sitting near his anvil.

Inside there were daggers and swords of all kinds and Dean stared down at the pile of weapons for a moment, feeling out of his element. If it had been a trunk full of guns, he would have already picked one out with confidence. 

Instead, he picked up the sword laying on top of the pile. It was steel and had the same kind of intricate design carved in to the hilt as Dean’s greatsword. It looked very similar, but it was half the size and twice as light.

“A fine choice,” Thorygg told him, reaching down into the trunk as well. “But I think this one suits you better.”

Dean stared a the sword Thorygg was holding out to him. It looked like the blade, the hilt and the pommel had all been forged from one solid piece of the same gold-bronze colored metal. The edges of the three foot blade were clean and sharp but careful care had been taken by whoever had crafted it to carve exquisitely detailed lines and patterns onto either side of the blade from the hilt to the tip.

It was, simply put, a beautiful weapon.

“It was made centuries ago by the Dwemer. Hard to find these days, especially one in good shape like this. We cleaned it up and sharpened the edges a bit more and I had Aldis wrap the handle in new leather. It’s good as new!”

Dean took it. The new leather around the pommel was supple, giving him a firm grip and excellent control of the blade. It was light and quick and he smiled.

Much better.

Thorygg gave him a standard leather scabbard and belt to go with it and they shook hands before heading back to the fire.

Cas, Dean and Sam expressed their thanks for the hospitality of the soldiers and the soldiers in turn thanked Cas for their new stock of potions and then they were off again, back on the road into the mountains.

Sam noticed the new weapon hanging at Dean’s hip and offered him a small smile, but said nothing.

For the first few hours, the sky stayed clear. The sun cutting through the tingling chill against their skin as the day wore on. 

Some time after lunch, when the brothers were both cursing themselves for not thinking to buy some food for the road before they left Whiterun, the clear, sunny sky was once again overtaken by a canopy of swollen clouds.

As they pushed deeper through the mountain pass, the trees thinned and disappeared, and there was nothing left but the occasional scraggly bush, mangled from the constant wind, and hunks of rock that had broken away from the mountains centuries ago and tumbled into the road below.

It was hard to even call it a road, at this point. The pass seemed to be a natural pathway through the mountains which some industrious souls had decided to line with stones and cairns to mark the way. In some places, the space between sheer rock faces or old landslides was barely wide enough to fit a horse. After they had been walking for some time up shallow inclines, the narrow road turned sharply to the right, then descended steeply and Dean hoped for the first time ever that it was all downhill from here.

It was barely past lunch and already his legs were aching and sore and the way his armor was sitting on his chest reminded him with every step that he had been bulldozed by an Orc the day before.

He wasn’t _as_ out of shape as Sam liked to think, but he was also used to shorter bursts of activity. These long, never-ending hikes were brutal. Add to that the fact that they had eaten what was surely less than two thousand calories a day for the last few days well…Dean was starting to think that Cas might need a crash course on human metabolisms and how it worked. 

A stab of hunger lanced through his stomach.

Vowing to plan better once they reached Ivarstead, Dean trudged on, letting Sam pass him and giving him an encouraging slap on the back. His brother did not seem to be struggling the same way Dean was and he would never admit out loud that maybe all those morning runs Sam insisted on were actually paying off.

It turned out that the descent in the road was a short one and after only a hundred yards or so the terrain evened out.

At least it was flat, Dean reasoned with his dwindling willpower.

At one point, after some fat snowflakes began to drift down from the sky, they came upon the mouth of a cave in the mountainside. 

It was deep and so dark that it was impossible to see farther than a few feet inside, and there was a barrel placed outside. On top, there was a glass lantern that was lit with a small candle inside as if to welcome travellers into the shelter or its walls. Just a bit farther away, in some bushes, there was an overturned wagon that was partially overtaken by a snowdrift.

The cave beckoned to him even as the icy wind at his back pushed him towards its mouth. It was probably so much warmer inside and Dean was about to suggest they stop and rest for a bit, take some time to warm up out of the wind, but Castiel grabbed them each by the arm, shaking his head and looking worried as he peered past them and into the blackened cave entrance.

 _Dark magic_ , he told them, pulling them back to the road.

When had they even left it?

Castiel shuddered, looking back over his shoulder like he couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on his back, and he herded the brothers away.

They pressed on. Dean kept watching Sam’s back as they marched, watching for any signs that his brother was pushing himself too hard, the memory of Cas’ voice echoing ‘brain haemorrhage’ still fresh in his mind.

The day wore on, the snow gathered in the nooks and crannies all around them, and Team Free Will marched.

At one point they met a hunter. She was wrapped head to toe in furs and was heading in the opposite direction. She was making the journey through the mountain pass to sell pelts in Riverwood, she told them, patting her huge brown and white mare with a wind-burned smile.

Eventually they reached the other side of the pass and finally began walking steadily down, down, down, back into the foothills where the trees started showing up again. This time some birch and other leafy kinds mixed in with the pine and firs. The wind gradually backed off and then disappeared all together and the bite in the air receded. 

By the time the sun was reaching down towards the horizon, the brothers had regained the feeling in their faces and fingers.

Nightfall was approaching when Dean was the one to finally call it a day. The mountains were finally behind them…but only just. They loomed tall and menacing at their backs like a pursuing monster, casting long, reaching shadows across the ground.

It was once again Sam that spotted something off the side of the road.

A tiny shack with nothing but an opening in the side, not even a door, and no light coming from within. Castiel stared at it from the road for a few long seconds before announcing there was nothing with a heartbeat inside.

Dean could hear crickets and an owl farther away and his boots sounded too loud on the floorboards of the little shack.

Two bookshelves took up most of the space and a small bed shoved into one corner took up the rest of it. The shelves held an odd assortment of things; an animal skull – looked like from a deer – and a few dried plants, three stacked wooden bowls, some apples and carrots, and a big, thick book.

"The song of Pelinal, volume six,” Sam read aloud, pulling it off the shelf.

There was a wooden bucket full of mushrooms by one of the book shelves, right beside another open door leading out the back of the shack.

Cas peered through the opening cautiously, but then hummed, clearly spotting something that made him happy, and Dean followed him outside curiously.

There was a makeshift fence of woven sapling branches sectioning off a small garden that was overgrown with weeds. Cas was crouching next to a fat-leafed plant with deep purple flowers on it. 

Cautiously, Cas leaned forward and sniffed the flower, then leaned back again like it had whispered something terrible in his ear.

"More poisonous flowers, Cas?" Dean asked, watching as the angel carefully snapped the flower off at the stem without touching the petals.

"Deathbell," he told Dean, picking all three blossoms. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" He held up one flower by the stem for Dean to observe.

It _was_ beautiful. Bright, deep purple, almost blue, with a cluster of small, soft, dainty looking pedals.

"Touching it will burn your skin. Ingesting it will kill you in a few hours. If I mix it with Nightshade and put it on my arrows it will go directly into the enemy's bloodstream and kill them quickly."

Dean pulled a face. "That's, uh, alarming."

There was a dilapidated alchemy table shoved against the outside of the shack that had seen more rain than use but Cas placed the flowers on its weathered surface.

Walking back in to the shack, Dean levelled a deadpanned stare upon his brother, where he had somehow managed to fold all six feet and four inches of himself onto the small, moth-eaten bed. "I guess you're getting the first nap.”

"Yup."

Whatever. Someone had to keep a lookout in case the owner of the little dwelling came back. Though Cas didn’t seem concerned, telling them he could not feel the residual presence of a living occupant within the space. 

Dean decided to entertain himself by watching Cas make deadly poisons and listen to him talk about potions or whatever other nerdy stuff he could think of to ask about. 

Speaking of, Cas was making a lot of noise rummaging through a half-rotted basket by the alchemy table, until he turned away with a frustrated noise. He squeezed back through the door to the shack, wings grazing the sides, and stopped at the side of the bed, tapping Sam's leg.

"Could I have the flint, please?" he asked politely when Sam squinted up at him unhappily.

The flint, as it turned out, was needed to light a tiny little burner inside a metal dome on the alchemy table and as soon as Cas got it lit, he was pulling a bunch of dried plants out of the satchel on his hip and sifting through them efficiently, like he'd done it a hundred times before.

"Who taught you how to do all this, Cas?" he blurted as soon as it occurred to him to ask.

"Her name was Ardaline,” Castiel answered softly, his hands stilling for just a moment before grabbing the wooden bowl he'd found on one of the book shelves and placing a handful of nightshade blossoms in it. He grabbed the pestle and began crushing the flowers. "She traveled with us for several months, though I was the only one that showed any interest in her craft. I was fascinated by her knowledge. She seemed to know every plant in Cyrodil and what it could do for her, so she taught me. Initially my brothers and sisters scoffed at my interest but Ardaline's skills ended up saving a few of them. By the time they had come to appreciate what she had done for us, she was dead."

"What happened to her?" Dean asked gently. He'd expected that she’d died, given the softness with which Cas had said her name, but he felt a pang in his chest knowing her death had probably caused Castiel sadness.

"She was captured by the Mythic Dawn and swallowed her own poison to avoid torture."

"I'm sorry,” Dean said, not knowing what else to say. He didn’t know what the Mythic Dawn was, or why they had captured her, and he was sensing that he shouldn’t ask. Not right now.

He wondered if this was the first time Cas had talked about the Oblivion Crisis out loud since it had happened.

"It was a very long time ago." Cas deftly dropped a deadthbell blossom into the pulverized nightshade and started crushing it up too. In the distance, the owl hooted again.

The sky was dark now, enough so that the first stars of the night were starting to twinkle high over their heads.

"Doesn't make it any less real."

Castiel hummed softly and for a while Dean was content just to watch him work. When he pulled a dented copper bowl from the basket beside the table and dumped the mashed-up contents of his mortar into it, Dean realized potion making looked a lot like cooking. Cas placed the copper bowl over the open flame he had lit earlier, adding a little water to dilute it and then he turned to face Dean where he was leaning against the wall of the shack.

“You should try cooking sometime,” Dean said quietly, mindful of his brother’s gentle snores.

Castiel frowned. 

“I just mean that making potions looks a lot like making cookies or soup or something.” Dean shrugged. “You might like it.”

A contemplative look smoothed Castiel’s brow. “I never thought of that. I could learn to make pie.”

Dean laughed softly, looking down at his cross arms and imagining Castiel standing in the kitchen at the bunker with an apron, covered in flour and laying strips of dough over a pie. There would be flour everywhere, including one the angel. But Cas would try until it was perfect, no matter how many kitchen casualties it took.

When he looked up, Cas was mirroring his smile, the feathers all down the leading edges of his wings fluffed up, and it immediately drew Dean’s attention. There were so many subtle emotions to read in Cas’ wings; things that didn’t show on his face, and it was only then that Dean realized he’d always assumed angels didn’t really have many emotions. 

Yet another assumption he had gotten wrong. If only he’d been able to see Cas’ wings all this time.

“You seem...perplexed by my wings.” 

Dean coughed, looking away, his face hot. “What? Nah, man, I – ”

“You stare at them a lot.”

“No, I don’t!”

“It's fine,” Castiel assured, looking down at the ground. “I just thought...well you always got upset with me when I...” he trailed off, wings curling forward over his arms a little and even more feathers rising.

Dean stared, wondering what this new display meant. Cas had curled his wings around his shoulders like that on their first night here, when he had been cold and was trying to catch the heat of their fire. But that, coupled with the fluffing feathers almost made it seem like he was trying to hide.

Was Cas embarrassed? Could Cas even _get_ embarrassed?

“...I know seeing them is probably very strange to you. I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable.”

“Wha – no, Cas, of course not,” Dean rushed to reassure. “Your wings are _awesome_. They're...” He was grateful it was dark, because his face was burning. “They’re _you_. And it’s the first time I’ve ever…seen you. The _real_ you, I mean. Not just, you know, your vessel.”

Cas' wings grew, even more feathers puffing out. “Well…yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Dean chomped down hard on his lip to keep from doing or saying something stupid. “So – do they – I mean, is it weird not being able to hide them away?”

“It was a bit strange at first and I still feel a bit...exposed.” His face scrunched up unhappily and his feathers slowly laid down flat again. “But I’m getting used to it again. It took a while last time as well. And these aren’t my real wings. My real ones are, of course, much bigger. But they are a decent approximation.”

“Can you fly?” he blurted. Apparently, he hadn’t bit his lip hard enough. He scrambled to explain himself even as Cas squinted at him.

“Of course, I can.”

“No, I mean, it's just you're six feet tall and what, like 180? At least? How does that work...physics wise?”

Castiel smiled, “A very good question. I use a bit of my grace to hold most of my body weight, otherwise, as you already suspected, my lift to weight ratio would be imbalanced and I would not be able to stay aloft. I may be able to glide, though,” he added thoughtfully. He glanced over to where the trees would have been visible if it weren’t so dark, as if he was itching to go test the theory right that minute.

A few hours passed uneventfully after that – well, that was according to Cas. Dean hadn't been allowed to bring his watch but the angel would glance up at the stars and simply rattle off the time. Around two in the morning, Cas wandered out into the clearing behind the little shack, every so often bending down to look at a plant or reaching out to cup little glowing bugs in his hands. Once in a while he'd flex one wing or the other at his back and occasionally stare up at the night sky.

At three o’clock, Dean shook his brother awake none to gently and kicked him out of the bed, crashing into it himself and wrinkling his nose at the dusty, unwashed smell of it. Although, there was a chance that smell might be coming from him, since he hadn't bathed since they arrived.

He was tired enough that his full-body ache didn’t even keep him from falling asleep almost instantly.

The next morning, he was woken gently by birdsong – which was much nicer than a hammer – and he sat up in the lumpy, musty bed, spotting Sam leaning in the doorway facing the road, arms crossed over his chest, lost in thought.

The two of them scarfed down the carrots and apples that had been sitting on the shelves – thankful that the weather had been cool enough to keep them somewhat fresh – and then joined Cas out in front of the shack.

Dean rubbed a hand over his stomach, still feeling like he was starving. The two apples and three carrots he had choked down hadn’t even registered in his gut. 

It growled at him in betrayal.

He chose instead to focus on the sharp ache in his chest, resisting the urge to peek under his armor to see just how bad the bruising was.

“What kind of potions did you end up making, Cas?” Sam asked as they stepped back onto the road. 

“A strong poison and something to aid healing.”

Sam spent a lot of the next few hours asking Cas a gazillion questions about alchemy, most of which Dean tried to stay interested in but quickly lost focus, instead gazing around like a tourist to distract himself from the, apparently permanent, ache in his legs.

The road here was well maintained, with hardly any gaps in the cobblestone. They were walking through a birch forest, no firs in sight, and some of the leaves were starting to turn yellow, rattling in the gentle breeze. It was a stark contrast to the forests they had seen so far and, as they followed the road, the mountains moved farther and farther way, the terrain flattening and filling with more birch trees.

It was lucky Dean was focused on the scenery instead of the conversation, otherwise he would not have seen the dark mass shifting between the trees.

He slowed, squinting into the scattered birch and thick underbrush. 

It moved again, dark brown and fuzzy and fucking _big_.

“ _Guys_!” he hissed urgently, power walking to catch up to them and trying not to let his sword and armor make too much noise.

Sam and Cas both stopped and turned back to look at him and he pointed into the trees with a trembling hand.

“Bear,” he hissed as loud as he dared.

Sam frowned. “Did you say bear?”

“ _Yes! Bear! Big fucking grizzly bear!_ ” he jabbed his finger in the direction of where he’d seen it.

The wind rustled through the leaves over their heads as they stared, frozen on the road.

“Move quietly,” Cas told them needlessly as he continued up the road, moving cautiously. He kept glancing over his shoulder to the spot Dean had pointed to like he could see through the brush.

The brothers followed him as quietly as they could, but when Sam stepped on a twig and it snapped under his weight, all three of them sucked in a breath, eyes darting back down the road.

The bear reared out of the brush on its hind legs and roared loud and angry like they'd personally offended it. If it had been next to them, it would have towered even over Sam. 

They ran, sprinting down the road.

The bear took chase, thundering along behind them, grunting and groaning. Just when Dean was starting to think that maybe they were going to have to think about facing and killing the thing because he had _not_ had enough food to fuel this kind of activity.

Ten paces ahead, Cas turned, unhooked his bow and drew an arrow to his cheek in under a second.

The arrow went whizzing between Sam and Dean and Dean didn't see it land but he heard the dull _thump_ of it embedding somewhere in the animal. It stumbled behind them and then Sam's axe was in his hand and he was spinning.

Just as Dean looked over his shoulder and closed his hand around the pommel of his sword, hot blood splattered across his face and he sputtered.

He wanted to snap at Sam for getting blood on his face, because his heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking with adrenaline and because getting blood splatter on your face is always a little unpleasant.

But Sam was already pulling the axe from the bear's throat with an apologetic grimace. 

Cas made his way over, hooking the bow to his back with a calm expression and retrieving his arrow from the bear’s forehead.

It was hard to tell if it was Sam or Cas that had landed the killing blow. 

With shaking legs, they pressed on and the rest of their trip was, thankfully, bear free. As they came out of the foothills and into more even ground, the birch grove continued with them, seemingly endless. If it weren’t for that impossibly massive mountain that was always to their left, rising high over the tops of the trees, it might have been easy to get lost. 

They came to an intersection in the road just before sundown, where an overturned cart was laying by another sign pointing straight on to Riften, or left to Ivarstead.

Dean willed his legs to carry him just a bit farther, something in his gut telling him that they _must_ be close now.

They trudge up over a small hill and at the top there, suddenly, was Ivarstead. 

A river lay between them and the small town and they crossed the small stone bridge that arched over it. On the other side, only three stone houses with thatched roofs, an inn and a small lumber mill made up the town.

There were two guards walking down the road and all four chimneys had smoke rising from them.

Most confusingly, Ivarstead guards had the same helmet as the Whiterun guards – a closed face with nothing but two black holes to see through – but had the same thick padded tunic as the guards outside Helgen…but their wool wrap was a dark purple.

Unable to tell who they may be allied with, the trio merely nodded to them and moved on to avoid conversation.

A sign hanging outside the largest of the four buildings in the town read _Vilemyr Inn_ , and they stopped at the base of the stairs leading to the front door.

A bit farther down the road, Dean could see stone retaining walls on one side of the street and hear the river rushing some hundred meters off to their left where it hugged the base of the monstrous mountain.

“The Greybeards live there,” Cas told them sombrely, staring up into the clouds hovering around the top of the mountain.

Sam and Dean followed his gaze incredulously. “We're going up _there_?” they exchanged an apprehensive look. There was no way they’d be able to climb that mountain.

“No. You two are going to get a room at the inn and get some food and rest. _I_ am going up there to speak with them.”

Dean felt an unhappy tug in his gut at the thought of Cas being so far away in such a volatile looking climate with no backup. 

“They call it the Throat of the World,” Cas continued, as if sensing Dean hesitance. “Seven thousand steps to the top, they say.” He smirked. “Luckily, I won’t be needing them.” 

His wings flexed at his back and his sharp eyes raked over the challenge before him once more before he turned to the brothers.

“Go. Rest. I will be back soon.”

They watched Cas walk down the street a bit before disappearing around the corner of a house. Briefly, Dean felt a little disappointed that he had yet to see Cas fly but assumed there would likely be plenty of opportunities in the future. Right now, he didn’t have the energy to do anything but climb the five steps up to the inn and ask for a bed. He wasn’t even hungry. Apparently, his stomach had given up.

Half-heartedly, he tried to convince himself to make an effort to ask some questions before they turned in for the night, but couldn’t think of any through the fog in his brain and the sharp pains in his chest and feet.

Absently, he hoped the blood on both their faces didn’t get them kicked out on their tails.

* * *

Vilemyr Inn in Ivarstead

* * *

[Dean's Dwarven sword](https://staticdelivery.nexusmods.com/images/1704/19333159-1580567664.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some pictures to the story for reference for those who have never played Skyrim before. I try my best to be descriptive but I am a very visual person and love pictures for added richness. I also include some links if you are looking for a bit more in terms of visualisations.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Michaela for beta reading and for the screenshots :D

Walking in to the welcoming warmth of the inn was enough to push the ache in Dean’s bones back just enough to get through the process of renting a room and buying some food.

At the centre of the open space there was, of course, the large rectangular fire pit, making it just this side of too warm with all the gear they were wearing. There were tables and benches shoved up against the walls that were full of bottles of wine and mead and some bread and cheeses set out for patrons to pick at. The bare floorboards had been mostly covered with woven mats and one or two animal furs to discourage the cold from seeping through. With a small thrill of vindictive satisfaction, Dean walked across the large bearskin laid out in front of the door.

A middle-aged man stood behind an old wooden bar, beneath a collection of herbs, spices, garlic, and rabbit skins drying from hooks in the ceiling. Behind him, from floor to ceiling, were stacked barrels of varying sizes, each with a copper tap in the end.

From what he could see, he and Sam were the only two people there. However, along the back wall and between each support beam, there was a closed door, likely housing at least a few patrons that had already turned in for the night. The sun had only just gone down, but it was a small, sleepy little village, full of farmers and travellers passing through that would be getting up with the sun.

“Evening, gentlemen,” the innkeeper greeted them with a friendly but tired smile. “What can I get for you?” He was nearly bald, dark hair left sparse around the sides of his head, though much could still be found on his eyebrows.

“We need a room for the night, if you have one,” Sam told him. “And something to eat.”

“And drink,” Dean added quickly, shooting his brother a look. He'd been walking too many goddamn hours and he wanted something to sooth the pulsing throb in his legs. He leaned against the bar, letting it take some of his weight and feeling the weight of his armor more acutely than ever.

Somewhere around his middle a stab of hunger made him wince.

The innkeeper grinned knowingly. “That room there,” he pointed to the door closest to their right, at the end of one of the tables. “It's got two beds; you can have that one. As for something to eat we've got some stew and braided honey-glazed bread from the mill down the road.” He scratched at his chin, trying to recall what else they might have but Sam interrupted, saying that would do fine and already licking his lips. 

Dean couldn't help but agree. Hot beef stew and honey bread? Just the thought was making his mouth water. 

“Alright, stew it is! As for something to chase away the cold, we've got some Alto wine and a little ale left.”

Dean ordered them both an ale before his brother could say otherwise and then led the way over to the fire, where they both sunk gratefully into the chairs. They were nothing special, simple wood frames with woven bottoms much like the ones at the Bannered Mare. But for the way Dean’s bones protested his every step, it may as well have been his memory foam at the bunker. 

He took a moment to relish the feeling of taking his weight off his feet, then began the struggle of trying to maneuver his sword so that he could sit fully in the chair. Eventually, he just unstrapped it from his hip and leaned it up against the side of his chair, out of the way. 

The soles of his feet tingled unpleasantly, the bones in his legs felt bruised, and he couldn’t tell if the sharp pains all through his torso were coming from his starving stomach or the spot where that Orc had rammed him in the chest.

There was a small table between him and Sam, just large enough to hold the plates of food and bottles of ale the innkeeper brought them.

“Sorry, I didn't catch your name,” Sam said as Dean shoveled a spoonful of warm beef stew into his mouth.

“Wilhelm,” said the innkeeper with a friendly grin. “I've been running this inn for years, now.”

Dean swallowed a moan with his second mouthful of stew. He knew the fact that he was _starving_ likely had much to do with how delicious it tasted, but it didn’t matter. The beef – or whatever meat it was – was cooked to tender perfection; the potatoes and carrots were soft, and the broth was thick and savoury and so warm and filling that it was like getting a hug from the inside.

“You grew up here?” Sam continued. Bless him. 

Dean gave his brother a look, admiring his ability to push through his hunger to do the job they were actually here for. Although, Sam was used to eating rabbit food by choice. Maybe he wasn’t as ravenous as Dean was. He made himself eat slower, savouring each bite while trying his best to pay attention to the conversation.

“Nope, I grew up in the North, up in Winterhold. Town not much bigger than this, actually.” There was a fond look in Wilhelm’s brown eyes and he continued without being prompted. “I had the itch that every child gets at some point, to go explore the world and do something exciting. I moved to Windhelm first but the people there,” he shook his head disapprovingly, “Not very welcoming to outsiders.”

Sam nodded, gesturing to the third chair by the little table. “Join us for a drink?”

Wilhelm grinned and nodded eagerly, as if he’d been waiting for them to ask. “About time I took a break anyway!”

He left and returned with his own bottle of mead and sat in the empty chair, taking a swig as Sam asked his next question, feigning only mild interest so as not to seem like he was prying as he picked up his bowl of stew and stirred it.

“So, how did you end up all the way out here?” Sam asked the question like he knew perfectly well where 'here' was in relation to Winterhold.

“Well, I wandered around for a bit. Spent some time in Kynesgrove then moved on to Riften before I started to run low on funds and heard from a peddler that they were looking for someone to take over the inn in Ivarstead. So, I made my way east, not really knowing where I was going. Every person I asked just kept pointing in the same direction, telling me to follow the mountain.”

Sam smiled, huffing a laugh, “Are there really seven thousand steps?”

“Yep! Counted them myself once on my way up.” Wilhelm grinned around the mouth of the bottle and Dean's respect for him jumped up a few pegs because it seemed a lot like climbing mount Everest. “I sometimes take supplies up to the Greybeards when I can, but I find myself able to make the journey less and less as they years go by.” Subconsciously, he rubbed at his left knee.

“The Greybeards?” Sam asked, the picture of confusion.

Dean smirked around a mouthful of stew.

“The monks that live up on the mountain.” Wilhelm took another swig of his ale. “Not from around here, are you? Everyone's heard of the Greybeards in Skyrim. Rumor has it they're the only ones who can use the voice besides the Dragonborn.”

Dean nearly choked on his stew and Sam's eyes widened a little in surprise before he could get his expression under control and the brothers shared a look over the table. Luckily, Wilhelm was looking at the fire between them and didn't seem to notice.

He'd said it so casually, as if the very woman they were looking for passed through his inn every other day.

Sam visibly took a moment to carefully word his next question. “You believe the Dragonborn is really back?”

“I should hope so,” Wilhelm grunted, tightening his grip on his bottle of ale where it rested against his knee. “Otherwise we might as well roll over for the dragons now. Some people still seem to be sticking like dried sap to the hope it's all just rumors, but I've had too many travelers come through here of late with white faces and shaking hands, telling me they're running from the monsters of legends.” He shook his head gravely and the firelight flickered in his dark brown eyes.

“We were wondering about the rumors as well,” Sam told him. “That's why we came to Skyrim. We wanted to talk to her. Find out if she could use some help fighting the dragons. But when we passed through Whiterun we were told nobody had even seen her in months.”

Wilhelm nodded, his expression grave. “That’s what we've been hearing too. My guess is the poor lass panicked, couldn't handle the responsibility and ran. Who can blame her?”

Dean set his empty bowl down, eyeing Sam’s. If his brother didn’t stop playing with his food he was going to lose it. Dean’s stomach rumbled for more. Instead, he refocused his attention, wondering if he should ask just _what_ responsibilities the Dragonborn had or if it would give them away as aliens immediately. It seemed like not knowing about the Dragonborn on this planet was like not knowing who Albert Einstein was on Earth, and they didn't want to be setting off anyone's red flags.

“Soon as word spread that the girl had helped kill a dragon terrorizing Whiterun, the Greybeards called, but so far as anyone knows, she never showed up.” Wilhelm shrugged helplessly, draining the rest of his ale. “We can only hope now that she finds the courage to fulfill her destiny...or, if the stories are to be believed, we're all doomed.”

“There's always another way,” Dean felt compelled to say it, because how many times had they thought their number was up and they'd found a way around it?

Sam nodded encouragingly but Wilhelm didn't look convinced. 

“You’re good young lads. I can see the want for glory and adventure in your eyes! I hope you _do_ find her. Maybe she just needs a few good fighters by her side. Ah well, I best get back to work. You lads might want to turn in sooner rather than later 'cause the chickens'll be waking you at dawn either way.” He chuckled as he walked away, leaving them by the fire.

For a long moment the brothers sat in silence until Sam released a breath. “I’m starting to get the feeling that this is a way bigger deal than we first thought.”

“Always is,” Dean grumbled, staring off into the flames as Sam finally took a bite of his stew.

* * *

Dean was woken much too soon and in the exact way Wilhelm told him he would be. 

To fucking chickens screaming about the sun coming up.

He groaned into the quilt over his face, gut twisting with annoyance. Last night, he'd actually taken the time to strip off all his armor before going to sleep and was warm and cozy under the thick quilt. Gingerly, he pulled the blanket back, expecting cold air to assault him, but was pleasantly surprised that the warmth had lingered in the building overnight. 

Carefully, he sat up, feeling the ache in his chest turn sharp as he moved.

Taking a shallow breath, he looked up and saw Cas sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite their beds, wingtips crossed behind him. He had a loaf of that delicious honey bread in his hand and was tearing off small pieces before popping them into his mouth. He looked to be contemplating the fire crackling in the hearth, which was no doubt the reason he and Sam hadn’t shivered their way through the night in their thin cotton shirts and pants.

“You get any sleep, Cas?” Dean asked, voice rough. He felt like shit, which meant he had slept like the dead. At least his legs were no longer aching. 

The angel shook his head, though he didn't look particularly tired.

“What did the Greybeards have to say?” Sam asked, sitting up in the other bed and reaching his arms over his head in a stretch.

Cas paused briefly before shoving another chunk of bread in his mouth.

“They're dead.”

The brothers stared, Sam's arms frozen in the air.

“Seriously? All of them?”

Cas nodded, swallowing. “They've been slaughtered. Probably over a week ago, given the state of decay.”

Dean flopped back onto his bed, staring at the wooden beams on the ceiling, and acknowledging a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the beating he had recently received. “Another lead gone.”

“Not necessarily,” Castiel corrected, “There were piles of ectoplasm, which leads me to believe necromances were the culprits.”

“Necromancers,” Dean grumbled, sitting up again. “Just a fancy word for _witches_.” He tossed the quilt off his legs and sat on the edge of his bed, wiggling his toes in the dark brown pelt covering the floorboards. He stretched his arms over his head with a groan that turned to a gasp and abandoned his stretch when the muscles in his chest seized painfully.

Cas’ wings slid down over his shoulders, the large joints pressing in to the floor. He used them like hands, pushing himself to his feet. 

Striding to Dean’s side, Cas’ tone was sharp, “Are you alright?”

Dean waved him off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just sore from that Orc ramming me in the chest the other day.” He pressed his hand to his left pectoral, wincing.

Cas was already frowning, but it deepened further. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” he demanded, reaching for Dean’s tunic.

He slapped the angel’s hand away.

“ _Sam_ was injured, Cas, he needed your grace way more than I did. This is just some bruises. I’ll be fine, quit…hovering.”

While it was a tiny bit worse than he was making it sound, Dean didn’t want Cas to fuss. Or worse, to use some of his grace healing what would fade on it’s own in just a few more days. He’d gotten a better look at it last night when he’d taken his armor off. His chest was black and blue and there was a big swollen patch in the center of his chest where the Orc’s armor-clad shoulder had impacted directly.

Hands on his hips and feathers bristling, Castiel stared down at Dean with pursed lips for a long moment before simply saying, “You are incredibly irritating sometimes, do you know that?”

“Right back at ya,” Dean sneered.

Cas’ hand, index and middle finger extended, shooting towards his forehead.

Dean slapped the angel’s hand away again.

“You’d rather suffer, then?” Castiel demanded incredulously. 

“You don’t need to waste your grace on me, Cas!”

“It wouldn’t be a _waste_! And besides, it is a small amount of grace, I wouldn’t even notice it’s absence and would regenerate it before lunch time.”

Dean glared up at him, his resolve wavering. Well, if it really wouldn’t cost Cas too much energy...

He rolled his shoulder, grimacing when his muscles resisted the simple movement with a warning flare of pain.

“… _fine_.”

Cas grumbled something in Enochian then, something that sounded mean even in his already harsh and guttural language, and placed two fingers gently against Dean’s forehead.

A moment later, Dean felt his sore muscles relax and the throb in his sternum disappeared. He hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been drawing full breaths for the last few days until he was suddenly able to fill his lungs without pain.

He breathed out, feeling immensely better.

“You had a hairline fracture in your sternum. Just so you know,” Castiel informed him with a scowl. “That could have developed into a problem, or worse, if you were to get hit again.”

Dean swallowed, feeling ridiculous now that pain was no longer fogging his head. He hadn’t realized how much of it he’d been in. Over the last few days, the pain from his injuries, the constant throbbing in his legs and feet, and the sharp stabs of hunger, well, everything had just blended together.

“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbled, contrite.

Castiel’s expression softened. “You’re welcome. Please do not hide injuries, Dean. I will tell you if a task is beyond my well of power. While it is not infinite here, my strength runs deeper than you think, and you know as well as I that if you go into a fight injured that you are a liability.”

Dean felt his face heat, knowing this already and he was angry that Cas had had to remind him of it. He’d be just as annoyed with the angel if the tables were turned.

He vowed to pay more attention to what his body was telling him. This kind of work was all new to him, he couldn’t expect any of his usual methods to work here. Ignoring it until the hunt was over and then going home to lick his wounds in the safety of the bunker just wasn’t going to work here. 

On the road, on foot, anything could happen at any moment. He had to be ready and able to fight. 

Sam groaning loudly as he stretched again broke the remaining tension and Cas returned to his spot in front of the fireplace. 

“Ugh...” Sam grunted; his face scrunched up unhappily as he stumbled out of his bed.

“What?” Dean looked around for the source of his brother's apparent disgust.

“I smell. _You_ smell,” Sam gripped, looking down at his own bare chest and blessedly not mentioning the conversation between Cas and Dean. “I want a bath.” He tried for the hundredth time to run his fingers through his hair, but the blood matted in to it made it impossible. “I feel disgusting.”

Cas' lips twitched as if he was resisting the urge to smile and he popped another chunk of honey bread into his mouth as he looked between the brothers, resettling his wings.

“I don't smell!” Dean snapped defensively, out of habit. Surreptitiously, he lifted his arm a bit, sniffed, and had to concede that he didn't exactly smell like a bed of roses.

“Yeah, exactly,” Sam said, obviously catching the way Dean's nose wrinkled. 

“There is a wash basin right there, you know,” Castiel interrupted mildly, gesturing in the direction of the wardrobe in the corner.

Right next to it there was a large, shallow stone bowl sitting at waist height in a cast iron stand.

“There you go, princess,” Dean sneered.

Sam merely rolled his eyes and left the room in nothing but his cotton pants, muttering about finding some hot water.

Dean stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to push back the lingering fog of sleep from his brain, and watched Cas chewing slowly on the last piece of his bread. The angel's blue eyes were back on the fire, unfocused as he turned over the thoughts in his head.

“How you doing, Cas?” Dean asked.

“Fine,” Cas answered at once without looking away from the fire. His wings shifted behind him, long flight feathers sliding along the floor boards. “Just thinking about what our next course of action should be. We still have very little to go on. It is very frustrating.”

Dean could see Cas' irritation in the tense set of his wings and the fine lines around his eyes. It was hard to tell, most of the time, if Cas was feeling anything at all and sometimes – a lot of the time – Dean forgot that just because Cas' face was still and calm did not mean there wasn't a raging maelstrom going on just under the surface. 

He was getting better, he was sure, at reading the angel's microscopic tells. Unfortunately, where it concerned making Cas feel better, Dean was still at a loss of what to do.

Sam came back into the room before Dean could say anything. His brother had a large, cast iron kettle in one hand and in the other he clutched a large chunk of something yellow and rough that could only be soap. Under his arm was a wad of cloths. 

“I'm going first because you were a dick,” Sam primly informed Dean as he tossed the soap and cloths onto his bed and dumped half the pot of hot water into the basin by the wardrobe.

Steam curled into the air and a sweet and delicate floral scent permeated the room almost immediately.

“What is that?” Dean asked, the smell curling under his nose pleasantly.

Sam's broad shoulders shrugged but he didn't turn, grabbing one of the cloths off the bed and pressing it into the water. “There’s little purple flowers in the water and,” he leaned down, looking closer. “Some little green leaves that kind of look like parsley.”

“Frost mirriam and lavender,” Cas rumbled. “The mirriam can be used in potions to fend off the cold and is said to warm the blood.” He suddenly blinked and then got to his feet. “I will be right back.”

Dean flopped back onto his bed and turned his back to Sam to give him some privacy, listening to him grumble about the best way to wash his hair – he couldn't resist making a jab about cutting it off – until he heard Sam pulling his pants back on and he rolled off the bed, catching the clean cloth his brother tossed at him.

Sam threw the dirty water – dark a muddy looking with all the dried blood in it – out the little window between the beds and then left to go order them some breakfast. As soon as he was gone, Dean poured the rest of the hot water into the basin, inhaling the sweet-smelling steam in a long pull through his nose.

It _did_ smell pretty nice. Better than he did, at least.

He soaked the linen cloth into the hot water, watching the little purple flowers – lavender Cas had said – swirling around his wrists. He was going to smell like a flower shop but he guessed that was better than smelling like a farm animal. Besides which, when he wrung out the cloth and dragged it over his skin it actually felt nice to wipe away the sweat and grime of the last few, hectic, mind-bending days. 

Still, he didn't linger, quite worried Cas was going to walk in on him naked any second because the angel still didn't seem to understand the concept of knocking. Dean finished washing his body and tugged his pants back on, before bending close to the basin and scoping some water over his head, scrubbing some of the soap into his short hair, and then pouring what was left of the warm water from the kettle to rinse out the suds.

He felt better than he thought he would, after the simple bath, and after he tossed the water out the window like Sam had, Dean pulled on the rest of his armor and left the room to find Sam and Cas.

He spotted Cas right away, leaning against the counter and bartering with Wilhelm about the price of the small bushel of frost mirriam sitting between them. Wilhelm had a patient enough smile on his face, politely shaking his head when Cas offered a revised price, but poor Wilhelm didn't know that Cas was patient enough to win a staring contest with a stone.

Sam was sitting at the same table by the fire as they had the night before, a small plate of bread, cheese and grapes balanced on his knee. Almost compulsively, like he was making up for not being able to do it over the last two days, Sam kept running his fingers through his clean wet hair, slicking it back over his head. 

Dean shook his head, wondering why his brother insisted on keeping it so long. In their life back home it didn’t cause any real problems – other than annoying the hell out of Dean – but here it just seemed like it would get in the way. This was likely going to be far from the last time Sam was going to have to deal with dried blood in his hair.

There were two other patrons this morning, crowded together at a small table by the door, hands wrapped around carved wooden mugs of steaming something-or-other.

They were dressed in the plain cotton clothes that Dean had come to recognize meant they were common working people. Likely farmers or mill workers in the small town. Constantly moving, they had no need for furs to keep them warm. They looked disgustingly awake for the time of day, and were chatting and chuckling quietly to one another.

“Cider,” Sam gestured to one of the two mugs on their little table and pushed a plate towards him. 

The grapes looked a little weird – a deep navy blue – but they were sweet and tasted good against the sharpness of the cheese.

After a few moments of silence, in which Dean stared into the huge fire pit and sipped his cider, Cas dropped into the third chair between the brothers and picked up the last plate of food.

“You get your frost mirriam?” Dean asked.

There was a smile in Cas' voice when he answered. “Yes. I want to make a potion that will help us in colder climates.”

After filling the angel in on their brief talk with Wilhelm the night before, both Dean and Sam give the inkeeper a few coins for a couple wedges of cheese, some more honey bread and an apple each. They stuffed the food into the satchels. It wasn’t much but it was all they had room – and coin – for. So it would have to do.

In an attempt to get more gold for more food to take with them, Dean had pulled the silver necklace he had taken from the dead woman’s neck outside Helgen, but Wilhelm was already shaking his head before Dean could suggest a price, claiming he didn’t have nearly the gold on hand for what the necklace was worth.

They left the inn and Whilhelm behind and stepped outside. 

It was still early morning, but the sun had already risen over the thatched roofs of the small village, starting to chase away the chill in the air and filtering through the haze of smoke from the chimneys. The river that hugged the base of the mountain and flowed around the edges of the town was a steady white noise, but still quiet enough that Dean could hear early morning chatter from the sleepy folk trudging up and down the cobblestone road and from the birds in the surrounding trees.

As soon as they stepped into the wide street and were clear of the building, Cas' wings unfolded and stretched into the air, flexing once in a lazy downbeat while he reached his hands over his head and laced his fingers together. Sighing at the end of his stretch, Cas folded his wings against his back again.

It was an oddly human thing to do for the angel and it left both Sam and Dean blinking at the strangeness of it. It had briefly drawn the attention of two locals, who had skirted around the reach of Cas’ wings to avoid being bludgeoned as they walked by.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dean asked what none of them likely wanted to discuss. 

Could they even _have_ a plan at this point, with so little information to point them in any direction?

Cas glanced around, as if looking for the answers to their problems in the bushes on either side of the road, and then sighed. 

“We should question as many people here as we can. I spoke to the guards on patrol last night but it may be worth asking those on duty this morning. _Someone_ must have seen something. We just need to find them. We just need something to get us started.”

 _Again_ , Dean thought dejectedly. So far, this entire hunt had been them following one flimsy lead to the next. They were just wandering around in the dark hoping they might trip over something useful.

The trio made their way down the street, in search of a guard to start asking questions, but hadn't been walking long when Cas stopped, frowning off between two stone houses.

“What's wrong?” Dean asked. Both he and Sam crowded close to the angel, trying to follow his line of sight. 

“That house, on the other side of the river,” Cas answered.

There was a half-demolished stone house just on the other side of the water, nestled up close to a wall of stones at the base of the mountain. It looked as if it had been abandoned; left to fall apart however the years and the weather saw fit. But, now that he was looking, Dean could see a thin curl of smoke rising from the chimney, the only part of the house that didn’t look like a strong breeze could take it down.

“Someone _lives_ there?” Sam exclaimed incredulously.

Cas stepped off the road and passed between the houses, coming to a stop at the edge of the river, gaze sweeping down stream. 

The river was wide, about fifteen feet across, and the stubby grass that covered the ground between the houses was replaced by small, loose stones that had been polished smooth by turbulent waters. Under Dean’s boots, they gave way, making walking to close to the river’s edge a daring game of chicken.

“That bridge,” Cas told them, pointing to the one downstream. “Is the only one that crosses the water to the base of the seven thousand steps. And it is in the direct line of sight of that house.” He turned back to the brothers. “Before I returned to the inn last night, I asked some of the guards on duty at the time if they'd heard any news about the Greybeards. None of them even seemed to be aware something had happened. If someone lives in that house, so close to the steps, perhaps they saw something no one else did.”

“But if they saw something suspicious why wouldn’t they tell he guards? Or anyone?” Sam asked.

“Look at the state of the house,” Castiel instructed, turning to look across the river again. “It’s in plain view of the rest of the village, yet no one made an effort to keep it from falling apart. I would expect whoever lives there is something of an outcast, if not worse, and if they have lived like that long enough for their home to decay without the rest of the town stepping in to help, well,” he shrugged, “Even if this person even _wanted_ to warn the town of potential danger I doubt it would be taken seriously.”

A hundred or so yards downriver, just on the other side of the bridge, the river dropped away into a short waterfall. They could see the mist hovering in the air around the bridge from the turbulent waters. Dean wasn't about to get his armor wet – not with the early morning chill still in the air – so he and Sam started picking their way up-stream, back towards the bridge they had crossed to get into town, until the water calmed a bit and they found a disjointed chain of rocks in a narrow part they could hop across. 

Cas had followed them with a curious frown on his face and then watched closely as Sam and Dean hopped from rock to rock until they reached the other side.

Dean turned, letting his hands go wide in a gesture of inquiry. “You comin' or what?” he yelled across the moving water.

Cas' stance widened and his wings spread out and up faster than Dean thought the massive appendages would be able to move. Stunned, his eyes tracked their graceful movement, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind just how lethal wings might be in a fight on the ground if Cas could move them that fast.

In a single, powerful, flex of his giant wings, Cas lifted off the ground like he'd just launched himself off a springboard. The strength of the wind he generated was enough to lift and scatter the gravel under his feet. He vaulted over the river with only one other wing beat when he was directly over the water, and then dropped himself onto the wet grass next to the brothers, wings flaring to break his fall and keep him balanced.

Both brothers blinked stupidly and Dean wondered if Sam was also stunned with how fast Cas could move. They’d carried the guy across a field not too long ago and, while the angel was lighter than he would have expected, the muscular power required to move those wings – especially that fast – was just not possible for the human body they were attached to.

Without being asked, the first time Dean had punched Cas in the face rose to the forefront of his memory. It had been like punching a marble statue and he reminded himself that, while the body was human, the creature pulling the string inside was not.

A strange mix of alarm and excitement bloomed in his chest. Even more than he wanted to see Cas fly – _really_ fly – he now wanted to see what those wings could do in a fight.

He cleared his throat, glancing at Sam, who was frowning like he was thinking the same, but with all of the alarm and none of the excitement.

Cas didn't so much as spare them a glance, tucking his wings to his back and then trekking back towards the dilapidated house.

They followed without a word.

They circled the house until they found an opening in the stone that looked like it might have been a door once and found a middle-aged man standing in the middle of the remains of a living room, in front of a smouldering fire that was putting out more smoke than warmth. 

His hair was dark, greasy, and matted and his skin was filthy. He was wearing rags for clothes and his eyes were rolling wildly in his head. This close to the river, the air was always damp, and the floorboards under his bare feet were swollen with moisture and slippery with mildew. It must have rained recently. 

“I can't see you, Reyda!” the man muttered frantically, wringing his hands as he swayed from foot to foot. “I can't find you! Why are you _hiding_? Hiding, hide, hide, hide! Don't make me sad...” his voice caught, eyes scrunched shut and red rimmed like he’d been crying hard for a long time.

Cas stepped slowly into the remains of the house, his wings tight and flat against his back.

There was no roof over their heads, leaving its lone occupant at the mercy of whatever weather fell from the sky.

Dean saw Sam pull one of his axes, leaving it by his side.

The man didn't seem to notice Cas until he was standing a few feet away, then his big, brown eyes snapped over to the angel, looking fearful.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked softly, quiet and nonthreatening.

“Reyda was here, then gone,” blurted the stranger, his lip quivering. He looked to be in his forties. “Went to gather plants and never came home. Nope, nope...” his face crumbled as if he was about to burst into tears. He started pacing, back and forth across the water-logged floor, slipping a bit now and then but seeming not to notice. “Everyone looked and no one could find her. Wilhelm said she'll be back...told Narfi not to worry...Reyda will come back.”

“Will you let us help?” Cas said, taking a step closer.

“With father I said goodbye. With mother I said goodbye. Reyda leaves and Narfi can't say goodbye!”

Sam holstered his axe with a heavy sigh. Cas glanced over his shoulder at the brothers helplessly as Narfi continued to frantically pace.

“...makes Narfi very, very sad. Narfi needs Reyda to say goodbye.” He turned to look Cas in the eye. “If...if you see Reyda, tell her Narfi misses her and tell her to come home soon.” He nodded firmly.

“When did you last see Reyda?” Castiel asked patiently.

“Eight days,” Narfi answered with certainty. “Reyda left to pick some flowers and...” he trailed off, reaching up to tug at his hair.

“Did someone _take_ Reyda?”

Narfi shook his head. “Narfi doesn't know. Narfi saw bad, _bad_ men on the bridge after Reyda left but Reyda was not there. Reyda is gone, gone, _gone_!”

“What men did you see on the bridge?” Castiel asked firmly. “Tell me.”

“All dressed in black with fire in their hands!” Narfi whimpered, folding onto his knees. “Oh, Reyda, Reyda...you live among the clouds now, dear, Reyda!”

They weren't able to get anything else out of him. He broke down into hysterical sobs, skinny arms wrapped around his middle like he’d been kicked in the gut. They checked the rest of the house but there was only one small room where Narfi had a moldy bedroll and a threadbare blanket laid out on the damp floorboards in front of the fireplace.

Cas took a moment to infuse the poor man’s bed and linens with his grace so they were fresh, clean, and whole. They would stay warm, he told them, and were now impervious to the weather.

Pressing two fingers to Narfi’s forehead, Castiel closed his eyes, grimacing once or twice before pulling away. Before they left, they stoked the fire high, and Cas lightly touched the hearth. 

Dean had no doubt that fire would never burn out now.

They were back on the other side of the river because Castiel turned to them. “His mind is shattered. I fixed what I could but...” He trailed off when they stepped back into the street and passed a guard. “I don’t understand how an entire town could just _watch_ while –” his lips pursed in disgust and he swallowed, visibly gathering himself. “I managed to find what he saw eight days ago. Seven people wearing black mages robes crossed this bridge and started up the steps and a few of them were wielding what looked like powerful shielding spells and conjured fire to light the way.” 

They followed the road through the small settlement. On their left, they passed the wood mill. There was a man with sharp features and even sharper eyes watching over a long tree trunk that was being pulled into a track that lead to a massive saw blade. There were chains wrapped around the wood, a system of pullies powered by the water wheel in the river, sluggishly pulling the giant log in to place. 

“Well, that backs up your theory about necromancers killing the Greybeards,” Sam said.

“It wasn’t a theory,” Castiel corrected darkly. “I would recognize that particular stench of death anywhere. Their magic leaves something toxic that lingers long after they have left.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Dean snarked, “So how do we find their hideout?”

The three of them were silent as they left the village behind, lost in their own thoughts. They passed a farm, waving back to the farmer who called good morning to them as he leaned on his wooden fence.

“If you're heading for Windhelm, stay west of the river to avoid Fort Amol,” the man told them as they passed, chewing contemplatively on a piece of straw and already squinting against the sun as it pushed higher into the sky.

“What's at Fort Amol?” Sam asked curiously. The trio stopped on the other side of the fence. 

“Nothing unsuspecting travelers want to get mixed up in, that's for sure. I try to tell everyone I see leaving the village. We get a lot of folk coming through this time of year, most of 'em making their way to Windhelm for the winter. Not sure why, dreadful place to be during the winter, with a wind cold enough to freeze a man's heart in his chest!” he tutted. “And _mean_! Oh, those Windhelm folk don't have an ounce of trusting blood in them! You know they found a Dark Elf dead in her room at the inn there not too long ago? She was butchered, no two ways about it! Not a thing was done, they just dumped her body in the river and kept on. Dreadful business.” He shook his head, stringy grey hair skittering around his face. “The only reason the jarl can even keep that city running is because flocks of young students have to pass through it to get to the mage college in Winterhold.”

“Thank you for the information,” Castiel interrupted quickly. “We will stay east of the river on our way through.”

Dean frowned, pretty sure the man had told them to stay _west_ of the river, but before he could correct the angel, the farmer did it for him.

“No, no stay to the _west_ of the river,” he said forcefully. “Lest you want to find yourselves up to your eyeballs in walking corpses and dark magic, huh? Maybe that'll help you remember.”

It was obvious the farmer was now adding them to his list of stupid travelers passing by his farm.

Castiel was staring, his gaze weighted. “Necromancers?”

Of course it was necromancers and of course the angel knew that. But it never hurt to confirm.

“'Course. They took over the fort after the Imperials were driven out and they don't take kindly to strangers they find bumbling past their door.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Castiel turned dismissively and continued on, clearly having gotten whatever he wanted out of the conversation. 

Dean and Sam followed, offering a wave to the farmer who was looking confused and annoyed at the abruptness of their departure.

“So, I guess we're going to Fort Amol?” Dean asked, feeling a new rush of motivation now that they had a plan _and_ a lead.

“We're going to Fort Amol,” Cas confirmed gravely.

* * *

The trio followed the single road, which carried them out of town alongside the river. Before them lay the promise of many hours of descending back down to the foothills on the other side of the mountains they had just spent three days climbing in to.

Ivarstead, with its surrounding birch groves and mostly flat terrain, had been misleading. It felt like they had already left the mountains behind, when in reality, it turned out that the small village was still well inside them, situated on a vast plateau that they were only now starting to descend from. 

The morning grew warmer and well after they had left the town behind, they found themselves sidestepping wild chickens pecking at the cobblestones and shaggy goats chewing on the tough grass at the edges. The goats gave them bored looks, shuffling out of the way when they got too close, quite obviously acustomed to seeing travelers pass through.

The river abruptly ended, a waterfall plummeting some twenty feet down and, beside it, the road turned to steep switchbacks where the water had carved out the edge of the banks.

Over the years, freezing and thawing had pushed and pulled at the so much that most of the cobblestones had either been washed away in floods or buried under layers of mud and dirt. It left a path barely wide enough for a wagon, so close to the edge of the frothing rapids it was a marvel that it hadn’t been swallowed by it.

Up ahead, the road curved sharply out of sight with a sudden bend in the river. On their right, the heavily abused road and the erosion from the flooding season had carved out an over-hanging dirt wall, leaving them staring at the roots of trees coming out of the dirt at eye level, and boxing them in against the river.

But eventually the terrain evened out again and Dean looked over across the choppy rapids to where the water rushed along the base of the giant mountain – the throat of the world – as it towered over them.

Craning his neck to stare up at the clouds that cloaked the top half of it from view, Dean felt a bit like an ant at the bottom of a sky scraper.

So busy was he looking up, that he walked right into Castiel's back, soft feathers tickling his face, going up his nose and into his mouth.

He sputtered, rubbing furiously at his nose to try and dispel the sneeze building. 

“Cas!” he snapped, at the angel. He brushed a hand down his face but only one tiny downy feather fluttered away on the breeze.

He watched it go incredulously; something so tiny and soft and fluffy seemed ridiculous coming from something as formidable as an angel. He shook his head.

But Sam had stopped too, staring quietly at Cas with a small frown on his face. Dean was about to ask what was wrong but then the feathers all down the back of Cas' wings rose sharply and the tips drifted away from his body as they fanned out.

This wasn’t like when he was sleeping and his wings were fluffed up for warmth. There was no softness now. It was threatening, and his feathers looked stiff and lethal, like razor blades.

It might have been funny – there was the vague outline of a cat joke forming somewhere in the back of Dean’s brain – if the sight of it hadn’t also triggered Dean’s caveman brain into dousing him with adrenaline and raising the hair on his arms and neck in kind.

He and Sam drew their weapons at the same time.

Obviously, Cas was hearing or seeing something that was spooking him and Dean tried to follow his line of sight, staring up the road ahead, but it curved to the right and around the eroded wall of stones only a few hundred yards away.

“What is it, Cas?” he whispered.

Sam had both axes in his hands, stance wary and ready to spring.

“I'm not sure,” answered Cas, just as quietly. “I can hear it. It's big.”

A light breeze blew past them and Dean watched Castiel's eyes flutter as he pulled a long inhale through his nose.

“I can smell blood. Rotting flesh...” Cas' frown deepened.

“Ok, well, that can't be good,” Sam whispered.

Cas reached back and unhooked his bow, notching an arrow quickly. “I think it's a troll.”

The distaste was evident in the way Castiel spat the name.

“A troll.” Sam sighed. “Of course.”

“You think the farmer guy might have mentioned that there was a fucking troll just up the road!” Dean hissed, because really?! All that yammering and he didn’t bother to mention it?

“What's the plan, Cas?” Sam said, readjusting the grip on his axes. “'Cause my knowledge on trolls is a little rusty.”

“Follow close behind me. I will distract him and, when I tell you to, both of you run. I will lead him away and then come find you.”

“Can't we just kill it?” Dean asked, not at all liking the idea of Cas using himself as bait.

“Trolls are annoyingly strong,” Cas told him, one corner of his mouth turning down. “It is likely that an arrow to it's face will only anger it. But it will certainly be a distraction. It will be safer and faster for us to sneak by him. Come, follow me.”

He didn't give the brothers time to protest and instead crept forward, quick and silent in a way Sam and Dean had no hope of replicating. 

Right off the edge of the road, where it curved away from the river a little, there was a large overhang of rock jutting from the side of a hill, leaving a cave-like space off the side of the road. When the three of them crept around the bend, Dean felt his heart jump into his throat.

There was the troll, just like Cas had said, standing eight or nine feet tall with long, harry knuckle-draggers for arms and a face crammed full of too many eyes and sharp teeth. It was grunting and growling as it lumbered around in the mouth of its little cave, only just able to be heard over the rushing water beside them.

Cas looked over his shoulder at the brothers and said quietly. “Stay as low to the ground as possible and try not to make too much noise. When I release my arrow, run.”

Cas drew the bow string back to his cheek, the reddish-brown feathers touching just under his eye, and then released it. It whistled through the air and Dean heard the dull thud as it embedded itself in the troll.

He and Sam ducked and ran.

An ungodly, gurgling roar of rage burst from the beast's throat and Dean couldn't resist the impulse to glance over his shoulder, nearly tripping when he saw Cas' wings flare wide in a breathtaking display of aggression. The long, thick flight feathers fanned apart, looking like lethal swords that gleamed in the morning sunlight.

The troll made Cas look smaller than he was, even with his wings fanned out, but his aggressive display was making even the troll pause and rethink. Cas’ feet were set wide, ready to move quickly, and even from where Dean was fifty paces away now, he could see the blue light of Castiel's grace gathering in his eyes. 

All in all, the angel made a formidable sight – intimidating enough to make the troll pause for a second before roaring and charging forward, half running half shuffling like a gorilla across the rocky ground.

Cas lowered himself, bracing to meet the beast head on.

“Dean!” Sam barked from ahead. “Hurry up, Cas can take care of himself!”

Dean finally tore his eyes away, running down the road after his brother until the sounds of the troll's roaring faded away and they finally stumbled to a halt, hands on their knees as they caught their breath. 

It was well after they had gotten their breathing under control, just when they were wondering if they should go back for the angel, when Cas came strolling around a gentle bend in the road, his wings sleek and close to his back once more.

“How'd it go?” Sam asked with a relieved smile.

“Trolls are strong but, fortunately, they're also quite stupid. I was able to lead him back up the road and off the waterfall.”

Dean snorted, his heart finally calming in his chest. He readjusted his armor, pulling it back into place from where it had been jostled while he ran.

As they continued, the river abruptly turned away, tunnelling into a deep fissure in the side of the mountain – carrying its noise away with it – and the road veered into the trees and the rest of the day was spent ambling steadily down switchbacks carved between the thickening firs and pines that began to crowd either side of the road.

The farther down they went, the cooler and muggier the air became until Dean was pulling at the leather straps keeping his armor in place, deeply uncomfortable with how clammy his skin was. The atmosphere held the promise of rain; the tree tops over their heads faded into clouds of mist, and the sky grew cloudy as the temperature dropped.

They decided to take a break, settling down on an old fallen tree and eating the honey bread they had purchased from Wilhelm that morning. Cas only had a few bites, insisting that the brothers needed the calories more than he did, and wandered away to contemplate some mushrooms growing out of the side of the tree.

The switchbacks eventually ended and the soft pathway, that had mostly been layers and layers of pine needles, merged with a wider, well-maintained road with neatly laid cobblestones. The intersection sat in the bottom of another hanging valley, the pine trees thinning enough to allow clumps of grass and some flowering bushes to grow between them. Behind them, the throat of the world rose up like a wall and, in front of them, the earth dropped away. To either side, the forest covered the mountains stretching away from them like a thick carpet, and a few close snow-capped peaks were visible through the gathering fog.

The next section of road was a straight descending line carved out of the side of the mountain. It took them to a short bridge that the brothers took a moment to ogle.

A waterfall cascaded down the sheer rock face to their left. It was impossible to see where it started with the dense mist curling over their heads, and it dropped away below the bridge for hundreds of feet, disappearing into another cloud of billowing mist, leaving it’s base an unknown distance away. The water rushing past the edge of the bridge was so close that the stones were soaked and lush, dark green moss had covered almost the entire half of it. 

All three of them hedged away from the left side, not wanting to get wet, but they all took a moment to lean over the railing on the right side, staring out over the tops of the tall pine trees dropping away below them and the thick haze curling overhead.

It was peaceful here and the musty smell of damp earth and moss, of wet pine needles and saturated air was so comforting that Dean felt himself pulling long breaths into his lungs.

He would have gladly stayed there a while longer, breathing in the calming scents, but the threat of rain pushed them onward. The sooner they found Fort Amol, the sooner they could carry on to wherever the next inn was. 

The road pushed into a wider, more open clearing nestled in the bottom of a hanging valley and they only had to walk another few minutes before what Dean assumed was Fort Amol materialised out of the darkening air and curtains of fog. All around them, the bare trunks of the tall pine trees stood still and silent.

“We're looking west,” Castiel told them quietly, following the brother's line of sight as they gaped at the old, moss-covered stone fort, behind which there was a gap in the trees, indicating that the road likely continued on in that direction. He gestured over his shoulder to the massive ridge they had left behind. “If we flew straight that way, we would hit Whiterun again.”

Dean smiled, pulling his eyes from the scenery to watch Cas for a moment. 

'If we flew', Cas had said. It was the first time he'd ever heard the angel slip up like that, talking to them as if they were one of Cas' kin. As if they were family. As if he was comfortable saying things like that around them. It made something warm swell in Dean's chest.

They kept their distance from the Fort. In a few of the window slits, warm light glowed and there was a smoke stack rising, undisturbed, from a stone chimney. There were definitely people inside and they had been there for a while.

“So...” Sam said, sitting down on a nearby rock. “What's the plan?”

“We don't even know how many people are in there,” Dean said. “And are we killing or just incapacitating?”

“If they are, in fact, necromancers, you can rest assured evil and dark magic have tainted their blood. They are pests that will spread pestilence and death and they need to be exterminated,” Castiel said with evident distaste.

Dean felt his eyebrows climbing and huffed a laugh, looking over at Sam, who had a similar expression on his face. “And I thought _I_ hated witches.”

“Necromancers are not witches. Witches can be good but necromancers sell their souls for dark power, desecrate the dead and manipulate the laws of nature for their own twisted purposes,” Castiel all but spat, his wings tense as he stared hard at the stone keep up ahead, as if he couldn’t wait to get inside and smite every last person he found inside.

There was an intensity in Castiel’s gaze that Dean had only ever seen when an angel looked at a demon.

“So, you wanna just go in and nuke the place, then?” Dean asked. The thought was appealing, watching Cas waltz in there in a fiery explosion of grace and power was one of his favourite pastimes. When the opportunity arose. It had been a while since he'd seen Cas go full Angel of the Lord on some poor bastards.

“It is tempting,” Cas growled, and Dean swore he saw a spark of grace flash in those blue eyes in the gloom. “But unwise. I do not know how powerful they are.”

“They can't be more powerful than you, can they?” Dean asked. Cas was an angel, after all.

But he felt heat rising in his face when Cas gave him a sidelong look.

“I am not invulnerable, Dean, and there are many things on Nirn that can kill an angel with ease.”

“Right. Yeah, sorry...” Dean said awkwardly, his stomach twisting.

Sometimes he forgot Cas wasn't as all-powerful and indestructible as he seemed. He was a lethal fighter and – as Dean had recently come to find out – incredible with a bow and arrow. And of course, Cas had his grace. But Dean should know better than most that angels weren't immune to injury and death. How many times had he seen Cas bleeding, in pain, and weakened to the point where he couldn't heal himself? 

Too fucking many.

“I can see the entrance to the keep there,” Castiel said, pointing.

Dean and Sam could see it too. A wide arch in the stones, big enough to let a wagon through and without any gates.

“It's unlikely an old military fort will have more than one entrance that is accessible from the outside.”

“Through the front door, guns blazing?” Sam nodded with a grin.

Dean stood, shifting his shoulder, feeling the comforting weight of his sword at his hip.

They waited a bit longer for the thickening fog and the sinking sun to lend them the cover of darkness and crept close to the nearest wall of the keep, following it along to the archway. They found themselves looking into a wide open and mostly empty court yard. There were a few shabby looking wood staircases erected near the entrance for someone to get up along the guard wall, and a few planks of wood set over gaps in the stone so a patrol could walk the entire perimeter without falling.

Across the courtyard, Dean could just make out a faint glowing light and he squinted, trying to make out what it was and realizing it was an alchemy station – he could see baskets and a trunk at the base of the table, the set up tucked into what used to be a stable, with weak wooden beams holding up a dry thatch roof. The table glowed with a subtle green light and he could see the tiny flame flickering under a burner.

“There's no one -”

Cas threw up his hand – the simple gesture somehow managing to feel like a command – and Sam snapped his jaw shut. Cas pointed with the same hand, towards the alchemy station, and Dean saw the shadows shift. A man in black robes came away from the surrounding shadows, bending over the table.

Swift and silent, Cas drew an arrow and pulled the string to his cheek, taking aim for only a fraction of a second before releasing the bow. The arrow slipped through the air, a deadly whisper, and lodged itself into the base of the necromancer's skull, crumpling him like a rag doll.

Silence followed and the trio strained their ears for any kind of alarm being raised but heard nothing. 

There really was something to be said for having a sniper on your team.

Dean gave a start when he heard footsteps on the stone alcove over their heads and looked up, reaching to grab the pommel of his sword but not drawing it just yet. It would only make noise and give away their position.

Cas held up his hand again in an obvious gesture for them to stay put and then took a few steps forward into the courtyard, turning so that he was facing the brothers and drawing another arrow, slowly this time and aiming up over the alcove, his wings spread a little behind him.

They watched him twist at the waist, tracking the movement of whatever oblivious patrol was walking over their heads, and then suddenly the arrow was whistling through the air and the dull thud of it hitting its mark made Dean relax. 

At least until a body suddenly fell in front of his face, landing with a sickening crunch in the dirt.

Dean bit his tongue, strangling the impulse to swear. He didn't want to be the reason a bunch of necromancers suddenly swarmed them. 

He swallowed his heart and looked down at the strange, frozen face. He looked a little like the woman they had seen in the Jarl's place in Whiterun. His face was long, angular and had dark grey skin. His eyes, frozen open in the shock of death, were black. Much like a demon.

“A dark elf,” Castiel whispered.

They spotted a third person high up on a tower, a barely visible shadow moving within the mist, but they moved away from the edge and didn't come back, so the trio made a silent pass across the court yard and over to the only door they could see.

Silently, they ducked inside.

Three necromancers scrambled out of the chairs they'd been lounging in and Dean drew his sword, hearing Sam ready his axes and Cas notch another arrow.

The necro to their right snarled something at them and already had what looked like a ball of electricity gathered in the palm of his hand. At the same time, the middle one suddenly had a shield of light in front of him, which did nothing to impeded the arrow Cas fired, and he went toppling backwards onto the table with an arrow sticking out of his eye.

The third necro – a woman – thrust her arm forward and sent both Sam and Dean crashing into the wall at the same time a bolt of lightning crackled across the room and struck Cas square in the chest.

“Cas!” Dean cried, getting to his feet and kicking a bucket out of his way and into the face of the woman that had attacked them.

Little spiderwebs of electricity were swimming over the stunned angel's body and Cas staggered, his wings twitching at his back and his bow falling from stiff fingers. His eyes and his gasping mouth flickered with the light of his grace, much like demons flickered when stabbed with Ruby’s blade.

Dean swallowed the bile rising in his throat and rushed towards the necromancer that had fired the bolt of electricity at Cas and swung his sword with a savage cry, relishing the look of surprise on the necro's face right before he sliced through his shoulder and down into his chest, the blade cutting through flesh and the force cutting through bone.

As he pulled his sword free with a squelching sound and a spray of arterial blood, Sam's axe went flying through the air beside Dean's head.

The last necro, who had just recovered from taking a bucket to the face, screamed in agony, her eyes wide with panic before they dimmed and she fell to the stone floor, the axe protruding from the very center of her chest.

“Cas!” Dean let his sword fall to the ground in favor of using both hands to help steady the angel as he swayed, breathing hard with his eyes tightly closed and his bow abandoned on the floor at his feet.

Dean grabbed Cas' shoulders. “Cas, hey...hey, talk to us, buddy.”

Sam was at his side, his large hand settling just under Dean's on the angel's arm. The sound of their combined labored breathing seemed very loud in the silence of the stone-walled room.

His grace was no longer flashing, but Cas’ blue eyes drooped like he’d suddenly been drained of energy.

“I'm fine,” Cas told them with some difficulty. He waived his hand in the air in a vague gesture that told the brothers nothing. “Power...incompatibility...just -” he cut off abruptly when a shudder wracked his frame and he nearly doubled over with a groan.

“Easy, Cas, sit down...” Dean tried to keep his hands from shaking too much while he attempted to guide Cas to the nearest chair.

Of course, Cas shrugged him off and grumbled something about being perfectly fine and Dean sighed, feeling his heart rate calm. If Cas was able to be grumpy about being coddled then he probably _was_ fine.

“You sure you're ok?” Sam asked for good measure.

“ _Yes_.” 

Dean let the rest of his tension go in a big exhale, giving Cas some space and going to pick up his sword, eyeing the body of the man he'd nearly split down the middle in his rage. 

Well, Dean thought as he used a handful of the dead man’s robes to wipe the blood off his sword, the bastard shouldn't have tried to electrocute his angel.

“Ok, so we have to stop killing them if we want to question them about the dragonborn,” Sam keenly observed. He still held both axes in his hands, using the handle of one to scratch at his head as he surveyed the carnage.

Castiel ripped the arrow from the eye of the necro he’d shot and shoved it blindly into the quiver on his back, bow in hand, and looking for all the world as if he hadn't just been electrocuted with magical lightning.

“Step lightly,” Cas told them, “Dean, keep your sword ready.”

They were standing in a small, dark room. To their left was a table and chairs, a bookshelf and an octagon shaped table with strange, glowing carvings in the top of it that Dean hadn’t noticed until now. To the right was another, smaller room with nothing but a staircase in it leading up to the next floor.

The trio moved to the base of the stairs and listened, sharing a look when they heard the sounds of people moving around on the level above. Bless stone walls for muffling sounds so effectively.

“Give me a moment,” Cas whispered before closing his eyes.

The brothers shared a look, about to ask what was happening, but then soft blue light began to shine from under the angel's lashes and anything Dean was going to ask was whisked out his ears.

“There are four of them,” Cas' eyes opened and the light of his grace faded slowly in the dark. “One is asleep and stationary. Two others, awake and stationary...” he pointed to a corner of the ceiling. “There. The last is pacing.”

“I'll take the pacer,” Sam said.

“Me and Cas'll take the other two.”

“The sleeping one stays alive,” Cas finished.

They moved up the stairs with Sam in the lead. There was a split second of inaction when they took in the room. Three beds, a book shelf, a table and a fireplace.

Sam strolled into the room like he had every right to be there, stopping the pacer in his tracks with a friendly, “Hi!” before splitting his throat wide and cutting off whatever spell he'd been drawing up.

The two necros seated at the table leapt up with a cry and the one sleeping in the bed in the corner jerked awake.

The first necro fell with an arrow through his heart and Dean dodge a fucking _fireball_ before swinging his sword and slicing his attacker’s head clean off.

It was over in seconds and when Dean looked over to the bed, Cas was standing over the remaining necromancer – a young man no older than twenty – who hadn’t even had the time to get out of bed. 

Cas had an arrow drawn, with the tip pressing against the guy’s cheek.

“We have some questions,” Castiel informed him calmly enough.

“I don't know anything!”

“Liar,” Cas countered, drawing his bowstring tighter. “Someone slaughtered the Greybeards and I think it was you.”

The kid sputtered, looking as if he wasn't sure if Cas was serious or not. “I didn't kill _anyone_.” 

“Then who did?”

For a moment, the necromancer’s mouth remained a stubborn line but, with a casual movement, Castiel split his cheek with the tip of the arrow and he gasped, slapping his hand over the wound.

_“Who killed the Greybeards?”_

Through the window slits, the sound of rainfall punctuated the necromancer’s stubborn silence and heavy breathing.

* * *

Wilhelm!

Narfi's House

Fort Amol

Fort Amol Interior example

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Michaela for beta reading and for the screenshots :D

The kid looked between the three of them, his eyes rolling in his head like a spooked horse, unwilling to move with the arrow tip still pressed to his cheek, right above the gash in his skin.

Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck, he swallowed, and his brown eyes darted to one of the bodies on the floor. “T-they did. I mean, not by themselves. The Greybeards were powerful...some of them didn't make it back. I – I'm just an initiate, they don't trust me with important stuff like strategic political assassinations, ok?! I make food and wash the robes, that’s _it_. I stayed here and kept the fort while they went to High Hrothgar.” He winced when Cas pressed the arrow tip harder into his “P-please, don't kill me.”

The guy couldn't be older than twenty or so and Dean could see him shaking there on the bed, the black robes they all wore visibly vibrating over the guy’s malnourished frame.

He sighed. The guy was a pleb. He didn’t know anything.

“What's your name?” Sam asked, making an effort to at least sound friendlier than Cas.

The kid swallowed. “Falion.”

“Ok, Falion. Tell us why the Greybeards were killed and Cas here might repay you by not shooting an arrow through your brain. Right Cas?”

The angel grunted noncommittally, drawing the string back even more. “I might be persuaded.”

Falion blinked incredulously, “Might?!”

“ _I_ will decide if the information you have is worth the price of letting you go,” Castiel snapped. “Speak now or I will find the information elsewhere.”

“We were told to eliminate the Greybeards to try to anger Paarthurnax,” Falion spilled in a rush. “Everyone knows that dragons have a natural lust for power and legend has it that Paarthurnax is the only one who has fought his natural instincts and won. They...they wanted to push Paarthurnax back into hating humans.”

“So this Parnax guy is…a dragon?” Dean asked, blinking rapidly.

Falion startled, looking away from Cas briefly to let his eyes flick over to Dean. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, easing the arrow back as incentive. “Why would they want to turn Paarthurnax against man again?”

“I don't know. What I just told you I...I found out from eavesdropping on the others. Like I said, they don't tell me anything.”

“Who gave the order?” Dean asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look more intimidating. 

Falion shrugged uncomfortably. “I don't know that either. I don't know where the orders come from, but the men here...they seemed to fear whoever gives them. I can’t explain it, there’s just…” he shook his head, “Things have changed since the Greybeards called the Dragonborn. My brothers, they…they’re scared. Scared enough that they didn’t even bother bringing back the bodies of our brothers for a proper burial.”

Cas held the arrow tip against Falion's skin for a moment longer before abruptly pulling away, but he left the bow still notched and ready at his side. 

“Go,” ordered Cas, “before I change my mind.”

He looked like he was already changing it, his lips pursing into a thin line as his eyes narrowed on the young man before him. The index and middle finger of his right hand rubbed absently, back and forth, over the arrow shaft still notched in the bow.

Young, but not stupid, Falion noticed. 

He scrambled off the bed and scuttled down the stairs and out the door, leaving it wide open in favor of running full tilt from the fort. Dean saw him leap right over the body of one of his comrades and book into the woods without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

“Think you scared the kid,” Dean chuckled, watching through one of the window slats.

Cas hooked the bow to his back and placed the arrow back in his quiver. “Look around, there is bound to be gold or something of value.”

They scoured the place quickly and efficiently, finding some food – a half eaten loaf of bread and some more cheese, which they ate on the go with the rest of the cheese they had gotten from Wilhelm. Two small red bottles that Cas grabbed and shoved into his bag and an ornate chest shoved into the corner of a storage room full of barrels and burlap sacks.

Dean watched as Sam hefted the lid open, both Sam and the lid groaning under the strain of its weight.

“Oh yeah, baby!” Dean whooped, reaching in and grabbing two coin-purses nearly bursting at the seams.

“Is this a _ruby_?!” Sam gasped, holding a blood red stone up against the torch hanging on the wall. “This is a fucking ruby.” It was the size of a golf ball.

Nearly silent in his leather armor, Castiel appeared in the doorway to the small room, his wings folded neatly against his back. He wordlessly shooed the brothers out of his way and peered into the chest, making a noise that might have been close to happy at whatever he found inside. He bent and plucked a dagger from the mess of loot. It was a nasty looking thing. The blade was an ominous shade of dark green and had irregular, jagged edges and curved up towards the tip. It looked as if the whole thing from blade to pomel had been carved from one piece of material Dean didn't recognize.

“Orcish,” Cas informed them, lifting his right foot onto a small stool against the wall and sliding the dagger into the straps around his boot. “They make good weapons.”

Well didn’t Dean just know that to be true first hand. He shook off the echo of a cracked sternum, ignoring the phantom pains the memory dragged up.

Once they'd stuffed their pockets, the trio found a map of the entire province on a table by the door and, after a quick glance, rolled it up and secured it under one of the straps across Sam's back.

Mixwater Mill, according to the map, was the closest place that might offer a bed to sleep in and, since they were not about to linger around Fort Amol for more necromancers to show up, they made the decision to press on. 

Despite the rain.

It was well into the night and so dark it was hard for Sam and Dean to see more than a few yards in front of them, especially with the rain pelting them from above and the fog pushing in on all sides. The clouds seemed close enough to reach out and touch, hanging swollen and heavy over their heads. In just a few minutes, the rain had soaked through their armor and was pulling heat from their skin.

Even though he knew the mill wasn’t far, Dean wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake as he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around his torso to try and fend off the chill. Instead, he kept one hand on the hilt of the dwarven sword at his hip. With the rain beating the ground all around them, and with thunder grumbling in the sky to the west, it was impossible to hear anything that might be approaching.

And the odds of Falion having gone to fetch some friends were too high for Dean to relax.

Beside him, Sam ran a hand through his sopping wet hair, slicking it back over his head to keep it out of his eyes. His brother’s five o’clock shadow was nearly a beard now, Dean noticed, and for a moment he had to wrestle a bark of laughter into submission. There was definitely some ginger in his brother’s beard and he was going to make fun of him as soon as they were safe and out of the rain.

Drops of water trickled through Sam’s beard and hair and then scattered every time he turned his head to peer into another foggy shadow.

Dean reached up to run a hand over his own face, feeling a thick beard well on it’s way. He raked his nails through it on either side of his face, the rainwater that trickled through the hairs tickling unpleasantly.

It took them less than an hour of following the road to reach Mixwater Mill, but it had been a miserable trek. Both Dean and Sam were shivering under their armor, soaked through from head to toe.

Cas didn’t look much better. His leather armor was dark and slick, the oils it had been treated with no match for the continuous downpour. The angel shook his head, scattering the water from it and running his hand through to slick it back out of the way just like the brothers had. 

In the dark, he looked like a stranger. When he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the brothers were still close, the angles in his already sharp features looked that much more dangerous in a sudden flash of lightning.

His wings seemed to be the only thing the weather had not been able to penetrate. The rain rolled off the smooth and glossy feathers just like water off a duck’s back. 

For a brief moment after they had left Fort Amol, Cas had tried to shield himself against the rain by holding a wing over his head but couldn’t quite get the angle right and ended up soaked anyway.

Dean was sure that if Cas had been able to stop and cocoon himself in his wings like he did when he was sleeping, the angel would have stayed perfectly warm and dry.

The mill was just two small houses on the side of a river that seemed to have snuck up on them. The house closest to the road had warm light shining from the two small windows they could see, but the other house, sitting farther back in the trees, was dark and cold looking and was overgrown with tall grasses and clusters of little blue flowers. 

It obviously hadn't seen use in a few seasons.

Unbothered by the rain, several chickens were pecking at the ground between the cobblestones and they squawked in anger as the three men approached the house, flapping dramatically out of the way.

“Can we just…knock on the door?” Sam asked, looking around. He pointlessly wiped the water off his face.

Dean grimaced. Three six-foot-tall, heavily armored men knocking on someone’s door in the middle of the night?

There was smoke coming from the chimney and a basket of apples had been put out beside the little bench next to the door, barely protected by the narrow overhanging thatch roof. The place looked so warm and inviting it was almost suspicious.

“Hospitality across Nirn is not as rare as it is on earth,” Castiel told them with a gentle smile. He moved to the door and knocked softly on the weathered wood.

Dean clamped his jaw shut when a shiver wracked through him. Licking the rain water off his lips, he readjusted his grip on the pommel of his sword.

“What are you doing out in this weather?” A woman asked from behind them.

The three of them turned in unison. She looked to be in her forties, with sun darkened skin and dark hair that fell to her shoulders under the heavily oiled leather hood and cape she wore. There was a wry smile on her face as she came up to them, a load of fire wood under one arm.

“We thought we could make it to Kynesgrove by nightfall,” Castiel lied easily, softening his usual grumble, but she seemed unbothered by their presence. “But we did not consider the weather might stop us.”

She laughed, the sound of it melodic and cheerful, a contrast to the weather. “The weather in the mountains _still_ catches me by surprise sometimes, even after all these years!” Her smile widened when she caught Sam's eye and Dean nearly rolled his eyes when his brother shifted awkwardly and returned it with a little smile of his own. “You know, I don't get many people passing by these days, what with everyone run off to fight in the war going on.” Her sharp gaze traveled over each of them in turn, lingering, as most did, on Castiel and his wings. “It has certainly been a while since anyone so interesting has passed through.” She walked past them to lean against the doorway to her house. “Sadly,” her gaze flicked over Sam again, “My bed is only big enough for one, but the old worker lodge over there,” she tipped her chin in the direction of the overgrown house. “Has four beds if you want to sleep there for the night. There's a fireplace and some mead and food I store in there. It's not much, and it hasn't been used in a while, but it's better than sleeping in the rain. Help yourselves to anything you find.” She sighed. “More often then not things go bad before I can eat them myself.”

“Thank you,” Sam said with a sincerity they all felt. “What's your name?”

Her smile grew wide again. “Gilfre.”

“I'm Sam. This is Castiel and my brother Dean. Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

Her eyes darkened and she smirked suggestively to the point where Dean could actually _see_ Sam blushing in the meager light coming from inside the house. 

Luckily, Gilfre took pity on him and simply said, “If you find the time before you set off again, feel free to chop up some fire wood. There is an axe and some whole logs down by the river.”

Sam cleared his throat, his lips twitching. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

Once they were out of earshot, Dean finally allowed himself a laugh. “That was the most awkward interaction I've ever seen, dude. Good job, little brother.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“Your face is turning the same shade as your beard!” Dean howled, grabbing Castiel's shoulder so he didn't trip over anything in the dark.

Castiel grudgingly supported him, his opposite wing flicking out for balance now and then when Dean actually did stumble over a root. Sam stomped up the path ahead of them, mud splashing up around his boots with every step.

It was hard to tell if it was Sam or the distant thunder that was grumbling louder.

Gilfre hadn't been kidding when she said the house hadn't been used in a while and the trio had to step around bushes that were growing up between the wooden boards in the flat deck. But the rain was falling even harder now and the misty gray canopy over their heads was enough to tell them that it would last for hours yet. So, they made their way inside and, honestly, it wasn't too bad.

Most importantly, the inside was _dry_ and there were no leaks in the ceiling. It was a rectangular house with a big fireplace on the wall opposite the door, over which hung some pots and pans. On a large hook that protruded over where the flames of a fire would be, there hung a large, fat cauldron. There were two beds pushed up against the wall to the right and two against the wall on the left; a table and chairs sat in the middle of the room, littered with many empty bottles of mead and wine that had gathered an impressive amount of dust. A few wooden barrels – presumably the stores of food Gilfre had mentioned – were pushed up against a wall and in a corner wherever there was room. On the table between the bottles, a handful of gold coins and a blue gem of some kind sat in a pile and Dean guessed it was from travelers leaving something behind for Gilfre's hospitality.

From the ceiling over the fireplace, where the air was frequently hot and dry, there were a few dried herbs, cloves of garlic, and onions and Dean peered into a few of the barrels, finding things like apples, cabbages, carrots, and potatoes. One was even full of cheeses.

Sam flopped down on the bed against the left wall, coughing and laughing when a cloud of dust rose up around him.

Cas took one of the beds on the right wall, the one closest to the fire place, and wasted no time stripping off all of his armor without shame.

It was Sam that patiently stopped the angel before he could take his pants off.

“But everything is wet,” Castiel reminded him, as if they could somehow forget. “It needs to dry out.”

“Well, can’t you just…mojo your pants dry?” Sam pleaded. He looked to Dean for help.

“And what about your and Dean’s pants?”

Dean choked on some spit that appeared in his throat.

“We can’t just all hang out naked all night.” Sam honestly had the patience of a saint.

Castiel froze as if suddenly realizing what the problem was and then rolled his eyes so hard Dean worried they might not come back down.

The angel strode towards the door, barefoot, shirtless, and scowling. “Human men are some of the most fragile creatures I have ever –”

The door slammed behind him without explanation, leaving the brothers in stunned silence with nothing but the sound of the rain pounding away on the roof over their heads.

They spent the next few minutes stripping off their own armor down to their pants, propping it up against barrels or draping it over the ends of the beds to dry out. Dean hoped Cas could mojo their pants dry though. He lifted his left leg awkwardly, feeling the cotton stick to and pull on his skin, and readjusted himself.

Carefully, he laid his sword on top of the musty quilt on the bed, the only dry thing that might suck the moisture away from the blade, before going to check out the cauldron. It looked clean – if a little dusty – and big enough to cook up a pot of something for ten people. 

He wondered if he might be able to whip them up something hot to eat. 

“We should get a fire started.”

Cas came back through the door with a bundle of split wood and sticks in his arms and dumped them on the floor by the fire without a word. They were, of course, soaked through, but he bent and laid his hand on top of the pile, closing his eyes. A cloud of steam burst out of every log, the water evaporating instantly under the angel’s touch.

Then Cas got up and moved to each brother in turn, pressing two fingers to their forheads – a little more roughly than usual – and they were both left with dry hair and pants.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean mumbled, his cheeks heating. 

Really, he supposed he and Sam were being a bit ridiculous. 

But still. He was grateful to not have to be naked in his brother’s company. He did feel a little bad making Cas use his grace for something so unimportant, but surely if he could heal a fatal brain injury with little effort, drying some clothing wouldn’t cost him that much grace.

Though that probably wasn’t the point.

Luckily, Castiel seemed to have worked through most of his annoyance with the human race and was now building the frame for a fire in the grate.

Before either of them could tell the angel they would take care of it, Castiel had glared a roaring flame into existence and within a few minutes the whole room had warmed to a cozy temperature.

Dean started to cut up some of the vegetables he’d found in the barrels and then sent Cas back out and down to the river with the cauldron to fill with water. Despite the fact that, full of water, it might have weighed close to a hundred pounds, he carried it effortlessly hooked over his arm like a basket of flowers.

It took ages for the water to boil to the point where he was sure it would be safe to consume, but Dean kept them all busy. They chopped up more cabbage, carrots, potatoes and some leeks. They stepped out under the overhanging roof and shook out the linens and animal skins from the beds and made sure to keep the fire burning hot and low with coals.

Once he felt comfortable that the water had been boiling for a least ten minutes, Dean starting to throw in some spices from the drying rack over their heads, followed by the chopped onion and then the carrots and potato, which would take the longest to cook. He added some butter – three bricks of it had been wrapped in cotton cloth in a little crate by the drafty door – and some chunks of cheese because, well, cheese made everything taste better.

He stirred it well and then left it to simmer and reduce down while the veggies cooked.

“I have no idea if this is gonna taste good or not.”

“It _smells_ good,” Cas said earnestly, his eyes on the cauldron. He was sitting on the floor, close to the fire, with his wings laying down over his shoulders, the large joints nearly touching the floor. “I'm hungry,” he suddenly announced with a frown, as if surprised by it.

“Well you haven't eaten anything since that bit of bread in Ivarstead,” Sam tsked a little, reclining in the wooden chair at the table.

Cas looked away from the pot, swallowing. “My mouth is full of saliva.”

Sam barked a laugh, slapping his thigh and nudging Dean with his foot. “Hear that, Dean? Your cooking's got an angel's mouth watering.”

Dean felt heat rising in his face and a smile tugging at his lips and he glanced over at Cas when the angel brushed past him, his keen blue eyes sweeping sharply over the table and zeroing in on a wooden bowl full of shiny red apples.

“Nah!” Dean barked from his perch next to the cauldron.

Cas' hand recoiled from the apples reflexively and he turned a wide-eyed stare on Dean, looking both chagrined and appalled that Dean would refuse him sustenance.

“Just _wait_ , Cas. If this soup turns out to be gross you can have something else – it's almost done!” Dean finished loudly, when Cas looked back down at the apples again. “ _Cas!_ ”

Castiel stomped past him with a scowl, dropping back to his spot on the floor by the hearth petulantly, feathers ruffling in agitation. 

“I don't _like_ feeling hungry,” he grumbled at the fire, though his eyes kept darting to the cauldron.

“Nobody does, Cas,” Sam tried to assure him, but the wide grin on his face killed most of the sincerity behind it.

Eventually, after Dean had added the leeks and the cabbage, he spooned some of the soup into three wooden bowls.

Dean tentatively brought the rim of the bowl to his lips and tasted, humming when he discovered it had actually turned out pretty good.

Next to him, Cas full on moaned and Dean nearly choked on a soft chunk of potato.

“Oh my g-” Cas cut himself off before he could finish the blasphemous statement, his eyes going a little wide, before returning the bowl to his lips. Mere seconds later the bowl was empty.

“…good?” Dean asked dumbly, his attention snagged for a moment when the tip of Cas' tongue darted out to clean his lips.

“Delicious,” Cas rumbled, swiping his finger across the bottom of the bowl and licking it clean.

“There's still more if you – ok...”

Cas had already reached for the handle of the ladle sticking out of the pot.

After they polished off the soup, the three of them lazed around the fire, full and warm and sleepy. Sam had a half-finished bottle of mead in his hands and Cas' eyes were closed, his hands braced behind him and his wings relaxed and fluffy.

“So,” Dean drawled into the comfortable silence. They'd built up the fire again and set the cauldron aside, letting it cool. “What's the plan.”

Cas' eyes opened sluggishly and he stared into the crackling fire. “Oh yes, I spoke to Gilfre again while I was cutting some wood for the fire. She knew about the necromancers taking over Fort Amol and was grateful when I told her they wouldn't be bothering her anymore. She said she tries to avoid them, so does not know much about them, but that if we keep heading north, we're more likely to run into someone from the college. She said its common knowledge that a lot of necromancers get their start there – usually they are forced to leave when their thirst for dark knowledge or their unusual ideas become too radical. We may find some students at the school who know something about what happened to the Greybeards.”

“So, we keep heading north then?” Sam asked, heaving himself out of the chair with great effort and grabbing the map off his bed. He rolled it out on the floor in front of the fire and both Cas and Dean leaned in. 

“Kynesgrove looks like the next closest inn.”

“There's the college way the hell up there,” Dean said, spotting the scribbled 'Mage College' near the top of the map. A little tower was drawn in between a lot of jagged looking mountain peaks, next to a tiny little town marked ‘Winterhold’. “That is _so_ far away.”

His legs began to throb just thinking about it.

“I guess if no other leads come up we'll just keep heading for the college, then. What choice do we have?” said Sam dejectedly. “At the very least, our chances are good that someone there is already in contact with the necromancers in some capacity. Or can lead us to someone who is.”

It wasn’t a great plan but it was the only plan they had at the moment. Their only other option was wandering aimlessly from town to town and asking suspicious questions, which would likely involve the same amount of walking anyway.

Cas rose and fell into his bed after their plan had been decided, quite obviously unused to the feeling of having eaten way too much. This time, the brothers got to watch as the angel rolled onto his own wing, pulled his knees to his chest and nuzzle down into his feathers. Cas curled his other wing over his shoulders, bringing the two leading edges together and hiding him from view. Within seconds, his feathers rose and puffed out, making him look like a huge fluffy ball on the bed.

Sam was smiling fondly, shaking his head before looking away and poking at the fire with a long stick. 

“Quiet the hunt, hey?” Sam mumbled quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed, “It’s surreal. Even though we've been here for like, what? A week? Two? Feels like six months have gone by.” he shook his head. “We're on another _planet_.”

Sam nodded, staring unblinking into the fire. “I kinda like it here, though. It's so different from home. Quieter, simpler.”

“Definitely wetter,” Dean grumbled.

They talked for longer than they probably should have, knowing how early Cas was going to make them get up. Eventually, though, once they had exhausted the topic of how it felt to be on an alien planet, the brothers stumbled to bed with mead-warmed bellies and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

They left before Gilfre was up the next morning.

Their armor had fully dried overnight but it was, unbelievably, still raining the next morning. Luckily, it was only a light sprinkle now. 

They mowed through a quick breakfast of bread, cheese, and apples and then spent a few moments arguing over the best way to get to Kynesgrove before finally agreeing on Sam's idea to cross the river and cut across a wide open blank space on the map, at the center of which was drawn a ram skull. It left Dean feeling vaguely unsettled, to see such a wide-open space with no markers filled in. Why had no one gone in there to fill in the map?

There was a last-minute compromise when Dean pushed his concerns and they decided to skirt around the north-western edge of the blank space, and then were off, leaving a few more coins on the table for Gilfre to find.

Cas vaulted over to the other side of the river like he had at Narfi's house in Ivarstead, walking along the other bank until Sam and Dean found a spot to hop across. 

The other side of the river looked like the other side of the tracks. 

There was a steep hill in front of them, giving nothing away about what the blank space in the map might contain, and there was very little foliage on the ground. As a result, the landscape looked barren and dry. Exposed earth and the occasional gnarled bush or clump of bright yellow flowers were about it. 

They cut a path up the side of the hill, edging around a wide fissure in the ground that was billowing steam into the air like a geyser.

Over the crest of the hill, likely several miles away, a carpet of green could be seen clinging to the side of yet more mountains. They aimed for the mountain peaks, following their steady diagonal path up the steep hill.

When they rounded an outcropping of large stones jutting from the ground, the earth gave way below them in layered pools of steaming water, stacked like huge steps in the other side of the hill. They were big enough that a person could stretch out in them like a hot tub, if they wanted to. Around the edges of each pool, white, yellow, and some blue mineral buildup looked like melted wax dripping down the sides and the air smelled heavily of salt and wet earth.

The barren stretch continued down in to a narrow valley that spread before them. Some pine trees had found a foothold in the dry soil, but most of the trees had withered and died long ago, their twisted grey trunks painting a picture of their hard fought battle to survive. 

Here and there, clouds of steam billowed from cracks in the ground and Dean wondered just what the heck was going on under their feet. Blessedly, neither the steam nor the pools of water smelled anything like the ones in Yellowstone Park back on earth. For which he was eternally grateful. 

Picking their way down the other side of the hill was slow work. The dirt was dry and crumbled under their feet, making the steep terrain that much more dangerous. But the edges of the pools occasionally gave them something to grab on to for stability.

At the edge of one of said pools, Cas paused, frowning in such a way that Dean knew the angel simply could not fight his curiosity any longer, and tentatively stuck his hand in the hot water. 

He wiggled his fingers and the only indication that he liked what he'd found was the arching of his eyebrow and the very slight puffing of his wings.

Beside Dean, Sam was curiously dipping his fingers into another pool.

By the time they reached the bottom of the valley, the rain had _finally_ come to and end and the clouds shifted, the solid mass over their heads breaking apart into turbulent clumps that began to move steadily across the sky in the growing wind. 

Somewhere around midday they found themselves lost in the center of a steamy labyrinth. The ground was still bare and had split in places, either from extreme dryness – which was odd given that Dean felt as if it had been raining for about a year and a half now – or had been broken up by the pressure of the steam underneath. Some trees had lived a short while, only to wither and die, now just curled grey claws jutting out of the dirt. 

There were a few unique, and very alien-looking, plants that seemed to thrive in the harsh climate. The yellow flowers were growing in abundance in the valley, looking a bit like orchids to Dean’s untrained eye, as well as some kind of creeping red vine that grew in clusters near the pools of water.

Over their heads, as the day pressed on and they picked their way along, the clouds continued to break up and, occasionally, Dean felt truly blessed when the heat of the run hit his back. The temperature warmed considerably, but not enough to chase away the memory of last night’s sopping wet chill. When they stumbled upon the biggest pool they had seen yet, he was tempted to strip down and join the locals lounging in the hot water. 

He decided against it, not wanting to bother with taking all his armor off again and then having to put it back on.

They had reached the other side of the valley, the trees around them much healthier and, the pools no longer had mineral buildup but were still hot, with steam rising off the surface of the water.

Though the brothers gave a good-natured wave to the two people neck deep in the large pool of water to their right, intending to press on to Kynesgrove like they had all discussed just that morning, Cas’ plans appeared to have changed.

Before Dean could register what was happening, the angel was at the edge of the water, shucking off the last of his armor and unbuttoning his modified tunic.

"Cas...?" Sam called uncertainly. Since when did angels like to go swimming?

The two other people in the pool, a man and a woman, watched curiously as the angel stepped down into the water.

Behind them, Dean eyed the two tents and cold fire pit on the opposite side of the pool., but turned his attention back to Cas and the two strangers he was suddenly in the company of. He and Sam made their way over to the edge of the water, still too far away to make out what the two people were saying to Cas but it was obvious they were urging the angel to join them. 

As if he needed convincing. Dean had never seen Cas do _anything_ eagerly, but there was no denying that the angel definitely wanted to be in that hot water five minutes ago.

Cas was down to his white cotton pants that he – thankfully – left on and then was stepping into the pool, his wings held in high arches behind him, well clear of the water.

They probably didn't have time to be doing this but when Cas looked over his shoulder with a wide smile and met Dean's eye, Dean he found himself shrugging at Sam and heading for the edge of the spring. 

Angels didn't really need to bathe but there weren't too many people that didn't enjoy a good soak in a hot tub and Cas seemed to be a bit of a heat lover – always scooting closer to the fire or fluffing up his wings or pulling a blanket over his shoulders. It wasn’t like their lack of leads was going anywhere, so they took off their weapons and sat down at the edge of the water, offering polite smiles to the couple.

"On your way to Kynesgrove?" the man asked them, folding his arms over the lip of the spring like it was a pool deck. Dirt clung to his wet arms but he didn't seem to care. He was older, maybe in his late forties, and had a clean-shaven face and strong jaw. The dark hair on top of his head was as thick as the hair on his arms and eyebrows. 

"Yep," Dean answered, tapping his fingers against his ankles and watching Cas slowly lower his wings into the water. His blue eyes fluttered shut, his face turning up towards the sun.

"Eventually going to make our way to the college," Sam filled in amicably. 

"Huh. Wouldn't have guessed you were mages," the man said, blue eyes raking over each of them in turn and taking in their armor and weapons.

"Oh, not us..." Sam pointed to Cas, who had submerged himself into the water deep enough that only his eyes and wing joints were still sticking out of the water.

"An angel, right? Don't see them around Skyrim much any more, though my grandfather said they used to be here a lot. Grand warriors, he called them, always telling stories about how lethal and cunning they were in battle. He always said he was glad they were on our side and not the other way around." He chuckled, watching Cas with a lazy, unconcerned gaze. "He's terrifying, isn't he?"

Sam snorted a laugh. "Oh, he can be, trust me."

Cas had dunked his head and wings under the water, coming back up and shaking his head, scattering water everywhere. His wings were water logged and looked like they probably weighed a ton but he held them the same way he always did from what the brothers could see above the water level, as if they weighed nothing at all.

Cas dropped his wings into the water again and shook them violently – just like Dean had seen birds do – disturbing the water and spraying it everywhere. The woman laughed, holding her hands up and turning her face away.

Cas grinned at her under the water and did it again, tilting his head back in a way that made Dean think if he was closer he might have just heard Cas actually laugh for the first time. 

He frowned, surprised by the disappointment he felt at having missed it.

Standing up and fanning his wings as best he could, Cas let the water cascaded off of them and, for a moment, the sound of it was loud enough to be a dull roar and the woman's giggles turned into a gasp of surprise. Cas' wings beat slowly at the air, siphoning water off his feathers in a thousand directions like a sprinkler. He had to brace himself, widening his stand when the power of his own muscles pulled at him and threatened to take him over backwards.

Eventually he settled down again and he and the woman wandered over to where the brothers were sitting at the edge of the spring.

“Having fun?” Dean smirked, eyeing the way Cas' wet hair was sticking up everywhere.

“It's so warm,” Cas nearly purred, mimicking the same pose the man was in and laying his head on his arms. “I could stay here forever.”

“Sorry, buddy, but we should get moving if we're gonna make it to Kynesgrove.”

The man and women both looked up at them, some of the lazy relaxation draining from their eyes.

“You should make sure to get there before dark,” advised the man. He half turned and gestured off in the distance, back into the valley they had just spent the day crossing.

The trio looked and could see the faint outline of a very large hill in the distance, where, presumably the center of the blank space on the map was.

“A dragon lives there.”

Sam and Dean both whipped their heads back around to stare at him.

“A dragon??”

Sam gave a start of realization beside him. “That drawing of a ram skull on the map wasn't a ram skull, it was a dragon's head.”

“Yeah, he doesn't do much during the day but he's active at night. You don't want to be caught out here after dark and Kynesgrove is still a few hours away.” The woman rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, looking worried.

Cas looked over his bare shoulder, eyeing the tents the trio had all assumed belonged to the couple.

“Those aren't ours,” said the woman. “They've been here for months...”

Even with the threat of being eaten by a dragon, Castiel was still reluctant to get out of the hot water…but eventually he did, his _white_ cotton pants clinging to his skin while he stepped away from the brothers a good ten yards and furiously beat his wings to get as much water off as possible. When he came back and bent to pick up his armor, his nearly translucent pants clung to his skin like wet tissue paper and both Dean and Sam suddenly took an interest in some nearby plants.

Once Cas' armor was back on, the trio was bidding the couple goodbye, thanked them for the warning, and set off in the direction of Kynesgrove once more.

While they walked, Cas held his damp wings out wide, taking up the entire road and then some. All the feathers were fluffed up and fanned out to allow the air to circulate between each one and dry the remaining water. 

Dean knew that because he had seen birds on the discovery channel do the same damn thing.

He grinned at the angel’s back.

He was glad Cas was in front of him so he couldn’t see the mirth in Dean’s eyes or the grin on his lips.

* * *

Mixwater Mill (Gilfre's house)

Inside Gilfre's worker lodge

* * *

Lemme know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so at one point in this chapter there will be a bard that sings a folklore song. I included a link in the story text to a youtuber who sings a cover of the song right before the lyrics in the text start. Obviously you don't have to but...listening to the song either before reading the text or while reading makes for a much better experience. It is a stunning cover that cultivates the exact atmosphere of the moment that I am trying to capture with words.
> 
> Thank you to Michaela for beta reading! <3

When they got to Kynesgrove the sun was glowing behind the clouds near the tops of the trees around them and both Dean and Sam were _starving_. 

As it turned out, Kynesgrove was less a village and more just an inn with a cluster of tents and a vegetable garden behind it.

The inn was larger than one would expect, given that it was in the middle of nowhere at a three-way intersection of the roads. Cas kept grumbling about his wings still being wet and stoked a huge fire in their room, huddling close and fanning his wings as much as the enclosed space would allow while the brothers went to fetch some food.

When they came back, they wasted no time stripping down to their pants and arranging their own armor as best they could to let it dry again. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the air had remained muggy and thick with moisture. 

"How you doing, Cas?" Dean asked, shifting to unstick his trousers from his leg.

The angel shot him a dirty look and turned back to the fire, reaching up to comb his fingers through a patch of feathers for the hundredth time.

"I am very uncomfortable."

"If you get any closer to that fire you're going to burst into flame," Sam half joked while looking mildly concerned.

Cas made an irritated noise that tugged at something in Dean's chest.

"You want me to go see if they have towels or something?" he asked, coming to stand beside the angel.

"No, they wouldn't work...I have to..." Castiel jerked and reached up to scratch at his wing again before he actually _growled_ and screwed his eyes shut, going completely still.

There was a flash of blue light – grace – that washed out from under every single feather for a split second and then Cas visibly relaxed, the scowl melting off his face with a sigh.

"Better?" Dean asked.

"A little." 

Cas reached a hand behind his back and dug his fingers into the base of his wing, right where Dean imagined they were joined to his body, and then fanned the left one out as best he could given the fact that he was stuck indoors. He began combing his fingers methodically through his feathers, starting from the ones closest to his body – he had to reach under his arm to get them – and then working outward. Every once in a while, he'd reach back to the base of his wing again before continuing.

Dean watched him, sitting back on his bed and chewing on a piece of meat jerky from some animal he’d probably never heard of. And probably didn’t want to. But it wasn't until Cas started on the back side of his wing that Dean was able to see the way his feathers shined after he'd combed through them.

He froze with a piece of meat half way to his mouth and waited for Cas to reach back to the base of his wing again. This time he saw that the angel's fingers were shiny and wet with something and that he was using it to coat his feathers.

' _He's preening,_ ' his brain supplied. It was oil he was using to groom his wings. The feathers that had not yet been groomed looked dull and matt but the ones Cas had finished with were glossy and the colors were deeper and richer.

The hot water must have been hot enough to cut through the protective oils in his feathers and dried them all out.

"Hey, Cas,” Sam said from the little table against the wall. His brother had been watching the angel also and Dean could see the gears turning in his head. He just hoped Sam didn't ask anything too offensive. Or embarrassing. "Did God create angels in the image of birds, or birds in the image of angels?"

Cas' back was to Sam, so only Dean could see the little smile on his lips.

"He created birds after he created angels." He shot Sam an amused look over his shoulder, his wing now curled around in front of him so that he could blindly reach up and drag his fingers through the scapulars. " _I_ am not like a bird, birds are like _me_."

Sam huffed a small laugh. "Understood."

It took Cas the better part of an entire hour to groom both wings to his liking but when he was finally done, he turned to grab the plate of food Sam had brought for him and reclaimed his seat by the fire, wings crossed behind him.

The strangeness of seeing Cas just…being an angel in such private moments was still strange. Dean almost felt bad, like he was peeping through the window to the girls’ change rooms. He didn’t know why he felt that way. Cas grooming his wings was no different then Sam brushing his hair or shaving his face. Angels obviously had mundane and routine maintenance tasks like personal hygiene just like humans did. So why did it feel so…odd to witness?

Absently scratching his own beard, Dean suddenly realized it was because it shined a more natural light on creatures he had come to see as cold, marble statues. This was an inherent and evident organic side to Cas that he was only now seeing for the first time.

Cas was alive. He was a living creature just like Sam and Dean were.

Castiel had been a heavenly soldier for almost the entire time they had known him. And still was. That was evident in the way he spoke, moved, thought…everything. But even the most elite soldiers had down time where they ate and slept and took care of their basic needs.

Dean had known that angels, on some level, must do the same. He’d just never been able to picture what that would look like.

But here Cas was, with glossy, freshly groomed wings, huddled close to the fire, munching on a bit of bread just…being an angel. Not being a soldier, not planning a battle, not pouring over a map or hatching a plan. Just existing in the space between those things. Sharing his downtime with his two human companions.

Something warm squirmed in his chest at the thought, wondering, for the first time, how odd Cas must have found being in the company of humans. He’d certainly seemed endlessly perplexed by Sam and Dean’s habits when he had first started hanging around. Not that that had died down much. He often found Cas frowning at one or both of them like he couldn’t quite comprehend what they were doing or talking about.

Dean smiled, fondness overtaking him and, for a moment, he let it. But while he watched Cas scoot another inch closer to the fire, curiosity made him break their comfortable silence.

"Why are you so obsessed with heat lately?" Dean asked; his own eyes were drooping with his stomach so full and the room so warm. When he had first met the angel, he’d seemed wholly unaffected by things like the temperature. Maybe it was just because he’d been inhabiting a human body for so long?

Cas swallowed the chunk of baked potato in his mouth and Dean swore he could see a little dusting of pink on his cheeks.

"Normally, I use my grace to stay as warm as I like but, because the etheric plane...well, you know. I don't like being cold. It reminds me of when I was human."

The atmosphere sobered instantly with Cas' gentle admission. He didn't mean anything by it, he never did, but Dean’s dinner still heaved sickeningly in his stomach.

How many nights had Cas spent sleeping on the street? How many of those nights were cold or wet? Or both? Dean had wondered a thousand times, starting with the very first night he'd kicked Cas from the bunker. But now, for the first time, he wondered how Cas had managed to make it through all that _after_ the trauma of having his grace being forcibly cut out.

Sam caught his eye across the room and he had to look away, guilt tugging at his chest.

Long after Sam had gone to bed and Cas was curled up on the floor just off to the side of the fireplace, Dean snuck outside around midnight, stepping into a steady, drizzling, rain that would turn to snow if the temperature dropped any more. 

There was a large lean-to on the far side of the inn, stocked high with dry firewood, and Dean grabbed as many pieces as he could carry. 

Cas had insisted the brothers take the beds, telling them that his wings were softer and more comfortable than any mattress. After an almost-argument, Dean relented but still suspected Cas just didn’t want to give up his place by the fire.

Though the damp and the drizzle pushed in on them from outside, Dean made sure the fire stayed well stoked and burning hot enough to push back the chill all through the night while Cas slept, comfortable and warm, in the cradle of his wings.

* * *

So early in the morning that it was still dark outside the little window in their room, Sam was snoring softly and Cas had shifted on the floor, seemingly warm enough that he needed to pull the wing he used as a blanket back to his shoulder for some air. He was still sound asleep, curled loosely in the cradle of the other wing.

Dean was awake, because the sound of two people arguing out in the common area had roused him.

Carefully and quietly, he placed another log on the fire and then moved to the door, peeking out into the common room.

The inn keeper, Iddra, was standing by the huge fire pit in the centre of the room, her back to Dean. In front of her was a man about the same age with his blond beard tied into a knot under his chin.

Iddra was a formidable woman in her mid forties. Thin, but with a presence and attitude that more than made up for her small stature. Even from where he stood, with nothing but fire and candlelight to see by, Dean could see her quivering with rage. Even the long brown braid in her hair seemed to be vibrating.

She had her hands on her hips, somehow managing to yell even though she was whispering.

"This is your _last chance_ , Roggi! You _must_ get this sorted out!" she hissed. "I will not allow you to stay here with the Thieves Guild sending you threatening messages like this.” She waved a crumpled piece of parchment in the air between them. “I have a business to run and I'm tired of bailing you out of your debts! If you don't fix this by the end of the month you can find a new place to live that is far away from me!"

She chucked the parchment at Roggi's chest, which he scrambled to catch, before storming away through an open door behind the bar.

Roggi was left standing by the fire alone, staring after her with wide eyes and a worried frown. Absently, he smoothed the paper out against his chest and then looked down at it, his lips pressing together tightly before he folded it back up and slipped it into the pocket in the front of his faded green tunic, shuffling quietly from the inn and out into the drizzly morning.

Dean retreated back into their room and closed the door.

Sam and Cas were both still sound asleep and the fire was burning strong in the grate, so he decided to get some more sleep himself before they had to be back on the road. 

He drifted off with a niggling in the back of his brain that told him there was something in that conversation they could follow.

* * *

Iddra looked exhausted when the three of them ordered breakfast from her the next day and they sat at a table in the far corner, away from the bar, discussing the best way to approach her on the subject of the Thieves Guild.

"Don't you think it's a bit of a stretch though, Dean?" Sam asked, pushing at the lumpy porridge in his bowl 

"Not when we've got _literally_ nothing else to go on. Look, we kind of already had a hunch that Jenassa might have a criminal past, what with the rumors about her coming into Riverwood in rags with ropes around her wrists and the fact that she seems to have disappeared even though half of central Skyrim seems to know she's the dragonborn. Nobody who _doesn't_ have a shady past could pull that off." He leaned back in his chair, "So, if she was a prisoner being brought to that chopping block in Helgen, what if she's still involved in…the lifestyle? What better way to go underground than asking your guild buddies to bury you?"

"I guess…"

"Besides, people like that _know_ shit. They hear _everything_. We've got enough gold from Fort Amol to buy some information at least. Even if she isn't one of them, someone probably knows _something_."

Castiel spoke up for the first time that morning. "It would almost be better for us if she _isn't_ one of the guild members. It's unlikely they'll turn her over to us or tell us anything at all if she is one of theirs."

"Honor among thieves." Sam sighed, pushing his bowl away. "Alright let's do it."

"You wanna talk to her or should I?" Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder to where Iddra was staring off into space behind the bar.

Sam pushed away from the table and stood. "Both of us, come on."

Cas was bent over the map he’d rolled out across the table and paid them no attention as they crossed the room and leaned against the bar. He knew the brothers were much better at charming information out of people. Especially when they were upset.

"Morning, Iddra," Dean greeted through his most charming smile.

"Oh, good morning. Do you need something else?"

"No, we actually just wanted to ask you some questions. I overheard you talking to Roggi last night."

Her face darkened. "I'm sorry I woke you, but…he surprised me."

"Is everything alright?" 

She shook her head, looking exasperated. "Roggi owes some dangerous people a lot of money and now they know where he lives. Which is _here._ With _me_. I am worried for him but…I have to look after myself and my business. I do not want the Thieves Guild to come looking for him here. I have tried to help him in the past but his safety is not my responsibility!"

Tears had gathered in her eyes and she furiously scrubbed them away. "I am sorry, I do not mean to burden you with this. I have no one else to talk to and it is all very frustrating. I've kept this inn going all on my own and I refuse to be ruined because Roggi cannot clean up his messes."

"Hey, it's ok, we understand," Sam said, swooping in with his calm and compassionate eyes. "We'd like to help."

She eyed them, "You would help a stranger with something like this?”

"It's kind of what we do," Dean smiled with an easy shrug.

"You’re mercenaries? I really don't have much..."

"We don't need money, Iddra," Sam assured her. “The truth is we might be able to help each other. See, we're looking for someone, and we think she might be a part of that guild you mentioned earlier. But we're not from around here and don't know how to find them."

She relaxed a little, seemingly more comfortable now that she knew she would not be in their debt.

"Well, they're based in Riften and from what I hear they're struggling but trying to get back on their feet. There was some kind of disturbance there a few months ago and people passing through the inn have said that their presence in the city is getting stronger. There is a woman, Maven Black-Briar, who is a powerful ally of theirs and works as a liaison between the guild and the guards there. She's somewhat of a middle man, keeping the guards from looking too deep and bribing them to turn the other way when a guild member gets caught breaking the law. In exchange, they help _her_ keep competitors from pushing in on her mead profits. She controls most of the breweries in the province. Every time a new one pops up, within a few months, they’ve suddenly gone out of business. I’ve tried to put in orders at new breweries to try and support some competition but…none of the shipments ever arrived and I, like every other inn keeper I’ve spoken to, always end up going back to her for our mead."

"If the person you're looking for _is_ a member of the Thieves Guild, Maven is likely the only one who can be bought for the information. The Guild won't give you one of their own.” She sighed, leaning over the counter, “As for Roggi's debt, she might be the best way to settle that as well. She has just as much power over the Guild right now as they do her, but that will change the stronger they become.”

Fretfully, she began to fidget with a dish rag sitting on the counter. “Roggi owes them _thousands_ ," she whispered, a touch of panic in her eyes. "They will kill him for this."

"We'll take care of it. Like my brother said, it’s what we do," Sam assured her, though it was a promise they might not be able to keep.

"Before you set out,” Iddra continued, looking unconvinced they’d be able to help but desperate enough to let them try, “You should know that Riften is not a very nice town these days. The people there don't trust one another at all and tension is high. Be on your guard, there's no telling what might happen at any given moment in that city."

She sent them away with a loaf of bread and some cheese wrapped in cloth for when they headed out and the brothers went back to the table where Cas was still staring down at the map.

"We need to go to Riften,” Dean said as soon as they sat down.

Cas pointed to a spot down in the south eastern corner of the map, easily five days away, at least. And there didn't seem to be a whole lot between Kynesgrove and Riften.

"We need gear," Sam said, rubbing at his face. "Tents, sleeping pads, and bags to carry food, warmer clothes. Maybe at least one horse to carry it all."

"Yeah, we can't keep going like this, hoping there’s gonna be somewhere to sleep every night," Dean agreed. "We’re going to run out of luck eventually and I don’t want to end up sleeping in the bushes again. What's the closest big city?"

"Windhelm is quite close," Cas told them, pointing to an elaborately drawn tower and city walls on the map. It was directly north of Kynesgrove, settled in an inlet near a river that lead into a vast ocean that disappeared off the edge of the map. "Maybe a day, day and a half, from here."

"You got any more of those disgusting green potions?" Dean asked. “We could push through without stopping and get there a little faster.”

"I do, however that is not my biggest concern. They have drawn snow on the map, which leads me the believe that Windhelm is perpetually cold. I have a potion that should help keep you somewhat warm but do you think it will be enough?"

"Should be fine, so long as it isn't below freezing for too long."

By the time they finally left, it was pushing close to lunch time. Thankfully, it had stopped raining a few hours earlier, for which they were all grateful. Cas finally admitted that, normally, the rain would not have been a problem, if he hadn't spent so much time in the hot water yesterday and washed all the oil off his feathers. 

Kynesgrove was nestled close to the base of the mountain range that bordered the eastern side of Skyrim and the trio soon found themselves following the road that led through the broken stones that had fallen away from the cliffs over the last several thousand years and rolled into the valley. It left a graveyard of massive boulders and sparse fir trees that had somehow managed to find a spit of dirt to root in.

Despite the fact that the temperature was steadily dropping, they gained no altitude. In fact, the road sloped steadily downward, heading towards sea level. By the time the sun was sinking down behind the mountain range later that day, a hundred or so kilometres to the east, the air was dry and the wind was sharp. 

The opposite of what they had left behind in Kynesgrove only half a day ago.

It was well into the night, the moons hanging high in a crisp and cloudless sky, when they first spotted the Windhelm stables over the crest of a hill. It has a spit of flickering light, likely from a window or two, but it was a destination in the dark and the sight of it renewed their energy a bit.

It was cold, but not dangerously so. As long as they kept moving, Dean was sure he wouldn’t get too chilly.

However, as soon as they started their shallow descent down the other side on the hill, a blast of icy wind so cold it ripped a gasp from Dean’s throat ripped at them and didn’t stop.

They bowed their heads, curled their exposed fingers into their palms and pushed for the meager, flickering speck of light in the distance. 

The bone-chilling wind was blowing off the ocean that lay to the north-east of the city. Dean remembered seeing its orientation on the map. It tore across the ground and through the trees from the same direction continuously, dragging snow into sweeping dunes and twisting the growth of the trees, leaving the branches permanently twisted like frozen waves.

Well before the stables began to take shape in the dark, they were side-stepping snow drifts that have covered parts of the road and Cas had corralled the brothers close to his left side with his wing while he kept his right wing raised in front of them to break the wind.

It helped a little, but Dean could no longer feel his fingers, toes or face.

“Jesus, this is insane!” he had to raise his voice to be heard over the howl of the wind, working hard to move his frozen jaw around the words. He wiggled his fingers where he’d jammed them into his armpits and felt nothing. “I think now would be a good time for that potion you mentioned, Cas!”

Sam gave him a sidelong glance, clearly having been traumatized enough by the last potion to risk losing a few extremities instead of swallowing another. But his teeth were chattering and his face was pale and windburned. 

Cas stepped in front of them, spreading his wings halfway to block the wind while he dug through his satchel. The wind whipped his hair wildly and the tips of his longest flight feathers were fluttering against the brothers’ legs.

When Cas finally held a tiny glass bottle filled with blue liquid out to Sam, Sam took it reluctantly, with fingers that were nearly white and refusing to cooperate.

He drank half the little bottle and then shoved it in Dean’s direction.

The fact that Sam at least wasn’t gagging this time was of little comfort as Dean tipped the other half of the concoction down his throat, trying to bypass his tongue entirely with little success. 

It wasn’t nearly as bad as the energy potion. It burned, like he’d swallowed liquefied cinnamon, and the burn spread from his stomach all the way out to his fingers, toes and face.

He felt comfortably warm, but the effects didn’t last long. An hour later, when they finally reached the stables in front of the city, his skin was burning from the cold once more. But the potion had done its job. It had gotten them to the city without losing any fingers and that was all that mattered.

The sky was still cloudless, the wind likely so strong that it blasted any clouds away before they could even form, and the stars were as sharp as the pins and needles stabbing at Dean’s skin.

The trio rushed past the small house and the three large horses tethered there. The wall of their stable offered them some shelter from the wind but all three of them were standing outside its protection, unbothered by the cutting wind and freezing temperatures.

Before them, a squat stone bridge a quarter mile long lead over the mouth of the river and to the city gates.

Windhelm was a fortress of a city that had slowly been materializing under the glowing moons. Its stone walls rose thirty feet into the air and at every bend and corner there was a pillar of stone. On top of each pillar was a massive carved eagle head. At intervals, there were covered watch towers – also made of stone – that allowed the guards to monitor every inch of the city inside and out.

On the left side of the bridge, an invader would have to cross the half-frozen river and clamber across a field of moving ice sheets that had piled up and cluttered the bottom of the wall. On the right side of the bridge, the city walls disappeared right in to the open salt water. There was a thin dock jutting out into the river, and a few long boats that Dean could barely make out in the dark, but that was it. 

The bridge had also been constructed in a way that would allow it to become a fortress in and of itself. There were stone walls in the middle and covered alcoves and hallways with stair cases going down to a lower level that would have had Dean itching with curiosity if he hadn’t felt like a human popsicle.

But when they came out from between those walls into the open space in front of the city gates, the wind nearly knocked him over and he hurried after Sam and Cas, drinking in the sight of the city gates and trying his best to ignore how supremely uncomfortable he was.

They towered before them, even higher than the city walls on either side. They looked to be made of metal, which had then been reinforced with iron bars that ran from the top to the bottom and also side to side. At the very top, Dean had to crane his neck to see, the stone wall arched over the doors and there were three massive eagle heads glaring down at them, beaks open in a silent screech and eyes carved in purposefully menacing detail. 

He felt unwelcome. He felt like they were going to be shot dead as soon as they breached the gates. But they had passed a dozen guards, on their way across the bridge. None of them had said anything to them.

The doors, which looked like they weighed several tons each, were undoubtably difficult to open and close, so one had been propped opened. Just enough for one person to pass through the opening at a time.

Despite the very unwelcoming look of the place, they stepped through the gates with no trouble and no arrows to the face.

Immediately on the other side of the gates, looming up before them, was an inn – Candlehearth Hall according to the sign – with a giant iron bowl of fire burning out in front as if to beckon frost-bitten travelers into its warm embrace. 

They scurried up the stone steps to the three story, A-frame building. The shingled roof went right to the ground and there were two large additions jutting out from either side of the building that seemed to have been added well after the original structure had been built.

The fire in the bowl and the gentle light in the windows of the inn were the only life they could see in the city. At the very least, inside the protection of the high walls, the wind was not nearly as harsh, but it still made the fire whip and twist in the large bowl and had the wooden sign swinging back and forth on it’s rusty hooks.

Apart from that, no one was walking down the narrow streets, not even a guard, and there were no lights in any of the windows they could see glinting in the moonlight. Everything was made of stone; snow was gathered in every nook and cranny and covered every roof and flat surface. There were no trees, no plants, no living things at all. 

Seemingly no _life_ at all.

It was frigid and dark and deathly silent, save for the howl of the wind skipping over the high walls like some massive giant blowing over the rim of an empty jug.

Cas shifted uneasily; a frown etched firmly into his face. His blue eyes, as sharp and cold as the wind ruffling his feathers, stabbed at the stone walls and shadows around them.

Dean gave him a gentle nudge, "You ok, Cas?"

Sam looked back at the angel, having just been staring around himself.

"There is something...dark here. It feels..." Cas frowned and his nostrils flared briefly. “I don't know what it is. Perhaps…it is only a feeling. Be on your guard nonetheless."

Dean didn’t doubt for a second that Cas was only saying that for their benefit. If the angel said there was a dark presence here then there was. Plain and simple. And though that sounded like something that, back on earth, might have led to an interesting hunt, it wasn’t what they were here for and they didn’t have the time or the resources to get distracted.

"Let's get inside," Sam urged them, climbing the steps to the inn while glancing in every direction with an unsettled gaze and his arms crossed over his chest for warmth.

There were two doors in the front of the inn with no indication of where either might lead. They picked the one to the left and stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when the warm air immediately welcomed them like a hug. 

In the sudden warmth, Dean’s icy skin prickled unpleasantly.

He glanced to his right, frowning at the second door, which lead into the exact same space.

"Good evening," the woman behind the counter greeted them kindly enough – until Cas came through the door behind them and her expression turned colder than the wind outside.

Dean and Sam shifted closer together, reflexively creating a barrier between the angel and the hateful glare he was receiving.

Dean bit out in a clipped tone, "Three beds."

He could feel Sam staring her down beside him and she looked between them, giving a short nod and then making a gesture for them to follow. She was wearing a plain cream-colored dress and white apron and her greying hair was tied in a bun tighter than what seemed comfortable.

When he turned around, Dean saw Cas pondering a painting of a ship in a turbulent sea on the wall, seemingly oblivious of the tense atmosphere. He placed a hand on the angel's shoulder, grabbing his attention and steering him after Sam. Under his hand, Cas' leather armor was cold and stiff.

"You cold, Cas?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"We'll sit in front of the fire as soon as we find our rooms," Dean promised, giving the angel's shoulder a little squeeze.

They were led up a wooden staircase, which opened up to the second level of the inn: a common room with many tables and chairs situated around a large stone fireplace in the center of the room. 

Dean glared fiercely when he caught sight of another patron giving Cas a dirty look, cocking a brow in challenge until the man looked away and then turning to glare over his shoulder at the rest of the room for good measure, wondering what everyone’s goddamn problem was.

Once the nasty inn keeper, with her pinched face and wrinkly forehead, had left, Sam watched her go down the hall for a moment before stepping back into the room and firmly closing the double doors.

"Ok, you noticed that right?" he asked Dean.

"Uh, _yeah_ , what the hell is going on with these jerks?" Dean said, glaring at the closed doors. They were kind of nice, if he was being honest, dark wood with intricate carvings, but right now he hated them and every person on the other side of them.

Cas looked between them curiously, unhooking the bow from his back and tossing his quiver of arrows onto a nearby bed. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, you were getting some pretty nasty looks from half the people out there," Sam told him.

"Was I?" Cas asked mildly, glancing at the closed doors. "I didn't notice."

"Maybe we should just stay in the room," Dean said, tossing his sword onto the other bed.

"I doubt they would try to instigate anything, Dean," Cas told him. He’d removed his leather armor, but left the dagger in his boot. "Even if they did..."

"We'd lay 'em out," Sam grinned. "Come on, Dean, I'm starved and frozen. Let’s go sit in front of that huge fireplace and get something to eat. And drink."

Dean reluctantly agreed, but complained about it all the while he and Sam were removing their armor. He wasn’t worried they were going to get jumped in the middle of the inn – the place didn’t have that kind of vibe – but there was something unsettling about the way some of the patrons had been staring at Cas…

Their room was…quite nice, he admitted. Fancier than any inn they had stayed in so far. It was large and in a dormitory style with three single beds, one on each wall. But the linens were soft wool, died green with golden embroidery around the edges. There was a wash basin at the foot of each bed and two large windows that were likely perpetually frosted over. On the wall with the double doors, a large stone fireplace pushed back the chill coming off the single pane windows.

It was cosy and quiet but Dean followed his brother and his angel back out to the common room all the same and the three of them claimed three comfortable stuffed chairs next to the fireplace. For now, Dean forced himself not to glare around at every person in the room and instead focused his attention on warming up and making sure no one came too close to Cas.

His task was made easier when, just a few moments after sitting down, Cas abandoned his chair and sat right on the ledge of the hearth, folding one leg under him so he could sit sideways and fold his wings behind him. 

The fire was hot. Hot enough that no one else was sitting on the hearth, and the visible heat waves rolling off it were distorting the air around the angel.

For a while they all sat in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts while they defrosted themselves. At one point, a dark-skinned woman in an apron approached them and took their order for food and mead. She’d told them they only had wine left, and soon returned with three glasses and some bread and butter to tide them over until their food was ready.

No one approached them, but Dean could see some people at other tables glancing or scowling in their direction. He made sure to glare back, silently willing any of them to get up and try something.

None of them did.

But after a while, even Cas, oblivious to things as subtle as human social cues, noticed the attention he was getting, and had stiffened on his perch.

Dean’s fancy blue metal goblet was nearly empty when an Elven woman approached them and sat on the edge of the fireplace next to Cas, evidently unbothered by the heat.

"They won't hurt you, you know," she told the angel. Her voice was as soft as her features. High cheek bones, pointed ears, and big green eyes gave her away as an elf right away, but her skin was pale, unlike all the Dunmer Dean had seen so far, and her red hair was tied in a loose braid, a few strands tucked behind her pointed ears.

Cas gave her a curious look but said nothing.

"They'd be stupid to try," Dean grumbled, forcing his eyes away from the woman’s alien features to glare into the fire.

"They hate anyone who isn't what they consider to be a ‘true Nord’,” she continued unprompted, with a roll of her large eyes. "And they hate anyone different from them, especially if they don't _look_ like Nords." She glanced pointedly at his wings. "But for the most part they leave you alone." Extending her hand to Cas, she said. "My name is Aeranir."

Castiel shook her hand. "Castiel. This is Sam and Dean. You seem comfortable here, despite the hostility. Have to lived here long?”

"A few years. I don't know why I stay sometimes. The Jarl does not seem to care that we exist until it is time to collect our taxes. Though I am treated better by the locals than the dark elves that live here." She shrugged, a soft smile pulling at her thin lips. "Still, as a bard you go where the work is and these days it seems that Windhelm has more students from the college than ever before, since they have to go right by the gates to get to and from the school.” She leaned towards Cas conspiratorially, with a flirty glint in her eye that was totally lost on the angel. “No one pays better than drunken young ones that have just escaped to explore the world." 

She laughed.

"You're a bard?" Castiel asked, blue eyes sparking with interest in the firelight. His head canted to the side and his lips parted. He looked upon Aeranir with sudden wonder, an expression Dean had rarely ever seen on the angel’s face before.

Aeranir nodded proudly. "I am. I even studied at the bard college in Solitude for two years. My father was so very proud," she said drolly. “I might not be rich but I am happy telling tales and singing songs."

Castiel was slowly shaking his head, as if he couldn’t understand why her father would not be proud. “Bards such as yourself as so very valuable. If it weren’t for you, generations of lessons and information would be lost to time. The wisdom you pass down is so important and man would not have evolved without story tellers to weave knowledge of the past into the fabric of the future.”

Aeranir looked somewhat speechless, her large eyes suspiciously glassy.

“What do you sing about, Aeranir?” Castiel asked her, near reverently.

She visibly collected herself, clearing her throat delicately before answering. "Well, great battles and old wars. Heros and adventurers. Love and family. Whatever someone wants to hear. Sometimes its just music. The lute and the flute are my favorites to play. I love all stories and all music."

Cas pulled a few gold coins, seemingly from thin air, and pressed them into the palm of her small hand.

A new smile spread slowly across her face, evidently distracted by the angel’s signature intense gaze. "What would you like to hear?"

Between them, the fire popped and crackled.

With a small grin that showed just a sliver of his teeth, Castiel said, "Something inspiring."

Sam grinned into his goblet of wine, cheeks suspiciously rosy, and Dean glared between the angel and the elf, into the fire.

She stood gracefully, moving to the back of the room and picking up a red instrument that looked like a violin with two necks. She plucked a gentle tune and the room quieted a little. Behind her, the crescent windows that reached from floor to ceiling had frost gathering in the corners of the panes.

Despite the fact that Dean had decided the flirtatious woman was going to be no good at all, when she started singing, her voice was so melodic and soothing and _beautiful_ that [he couldn’t help but lean forward in his chair, instantly captivated.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wr-buV4tYOA)

_"Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart._

_I tell you, I tell you the dragonborn comes."_

Sam released a small breath and Cas’ feathers lifted, as if he had goosebumps.

_"With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts._

_Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes._

_It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes._

_Beware, beware the Dragonborn comes._

_For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows._

_You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come."_

She gave an interlude to sing a wordless verse, her haunting voice filling the room and weaving around the patrons like a spell. 

Dean reminded himself to breathe.

" _Dovahkiin, Dovakiin_

_Nall ok zin los vahriin_

_Wah dein, vokul, mahfaeraak ahst vall._

_Ahrk fin norok paal graan_

_Fod nust hon zindro zaan_

_Dovahkiin, fah hin, kogaan mu draal."_

The last few strums of her instrument shivered through the air and everyone seemed to breathe at once. Bards, it seemed, were powerful in their own way, and Dean didn’t even have the sense to tease his brother when he caught Sam wiping his eyes.

He roughly cleared his throat, blinking away some access moisture in his eyes, wondering if every bard was as good at stirring emotion as Aeranir was. He hadn’t even understood the last half of the song and was still rubbing the goosebumps off his arms.

"How was that?" she asked Castiel, sitting down beside him once more.

"You have an incredible talent. Your voice is beautiful."

Dean didn’t think the compliment did the woman’s talent justice.

Her smile grew all the same.

Castiel’s wings shifted as he did, readjusting his perch on the hearth. "May I ask...why did you choose that song?"

She shrugged, folding her hands in her lap. "It seems to make people feel better. In light of the evidence of the dragons returning and the Dragonborn...gone missing, people like to be reminded of the prophecy's promise – if you believe in that sort of thing. It gives them hope."

"Forgive my ignorance, but I am not from here."

She chuckled, glancing at his wings. "No, I don't suppose you are."

"Can you tell me the story of the Dragonborn?" Cas held out two more gold coins but she covered his hand with her’s and pushed it back into his lap. 

"Keep your gold, Castiel. I will tell you this story because I enjoy telling it and because I enjoy talking to you."

She sat up straighter, folding her hands in her lap and addressing the trio as a group. With her voice turned somber and low, she told them the story of the Dragonborn.

"Skyrim legend tells of a hero known as the Dragonborn, _Dovahkiin_ in the language of the dragons. They are warriors, with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon, who's destiny it is to destroy the dragon God, Alduin. The World-Eater. So much knowledge has been lost to time but long ago, after Kyne took pity on the shattered hearts of men and bestowed upon them the gift of speaking as dragons do, _five_ key events _will_ preface Alduin's return after his expulsion from the world:

_The first; when misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world._

_The seconds; when the Brass Tower walks and time is reshaped._

_The third; when the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles._

_The fourth; when the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne and the White Tower falls._

_And the last; when the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless and bleeding._

_The world Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the last dragonborn_.”

She paused and the crackle of the fire somehow seemed grave.

“Scholars believe that the last _two_ of the five events have already come to pass. The fourth was the death of Uriel Septim."

Dean saw Cas straighten, his wings tensing.

Uriel Septim's death, Castiel had told them back in Riverwood, was the reason his garrison had come to Tamriel in the first place.

Aeranir continued. "Leading Tamriel into the Oblivion Crisis, Martin Septim, the sole remaining heir to the throne, was able to seal shut the gates of Oblivion. However, by destroying the Amulet of Kings and sacrificing himself to prevent the Empire's annihilation, Martin Septim inadvertently brought about the demise of Tiber Septim's bloodline, ending the historical rule of the Dragonborn emperors over Tamriel. The subsequent ‘fall of the White Tower’ predicted the capturing and destruction of the White-Gold Tower after the siege on the Imperial City by the Aldmeri Dominion."

Here she paused again, and Dean tried to follow along with the story, but was having a hard time with all the strange names of people and places he knew nothing about. He kept glancing at Cas, noting the angel’s hardening posture.

"The final event, some believe, is the civil war currently wreaking havoc in Skyrim. As you may have heard, High King Torygg of Skyrim was recently killed by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, leaving the province without a unifying leader. It was this that finally tipped the region into the civil war that had brewing for the last hundred years.”

“The prophecy is dire but not without hope. One individual, gifted by Aaktosh with the very powers held by the dragons themselves, the Dragonborn is the only living mortal who can not only slay a dragon, but consume its soul so that it can never rise again. It is this person, this _hero_ , that has been foretold to become Alduin's Doom and the Saviour of mankind.”

Sam was staring into the fire with a wide-eyed, thoroughly overwhelmed expression, his empty goblet of wine clutched absently to his chest.

Cas’ lips were pursed in a thin line, which, Dean knew by now, meant he was quietly freaking out on the inside.

Dean sighed and dropped his chin into the palm of his hand. "Well, shit.”

With a boatload of new information to unpack and discuss and needing to do it _away_ from nosy patrons, the trio thanked Aerani and bid her goodnight before heading back to their room.

Halfway down the hall a drunken man stumbled into their path and eyed Cas with beady, bloodshot eyes.

“Fall outta yer nest, little birdie?” the drunk taunted.

Cas merely rolled his eyes and shoved past the man before Dean's chest had even finished swelling.

“Hey!” the drunk hollered, staggering into the wall. “Come back here, ya great pigeon, so I can teach ya a lesson in manners!”

Cas threw a dirty look over his shoulder, then turned to face the man, his eyes flashing with grace and his wings bristling at his back, spreading a little in a minorly threatening display.

“Er, guys...” Sam started, giving his brother a stern look when he cracked his knuckles and stepped between the angel and the drunk. “We really can't afford to make a scene here. This isn’t the kind of place I want to find myself sleeping in the street.”

As if on que, the wind outside howled, buffeting against the roof over their heads.

Dean kept his eye on the drunk, who was leaning heavily into the wall and now staring a little warily over Dean's shoulder at Cas, seemingly not yet drunk enough to have missed the angry flash of grace in the angel's eyes.

“Hey, I'm not causing a scene,” Dean said to the drunk with a hard smile and icy stare. “We don't have a problem...do we, buddy?”

The man grumbled something and shoved away from the wall, tottering down the hall and around the corner to the common room.

Cas was muttering under his breath in Enochian and when they got back to the room the set of his wings was high and rigid.

“Let it go, Cas,” Dean soothed, trying to follow his own advice.

Cas pulled his dagger from his boot and slipped it under his pillow, grumbling.

Dean looked to his brother with his eyebrows raised but then shot him a stern look when he saw that Sam was fighting hard to keep the grin off his face.

Though, really, 'Great Pigeon' _was_ kinda funny. He looked back over at Cas and jumped when he found the angel glaring at them both as if reading their minds.

"So, uh...we're looking for the only chick who can save the planet," Dean awkwardly summarized Aeranir’s emotional and somewhat horrifying information bomb, hoping Cas hadn’t _actually_ read his mind. He’d promised long ago that he would never do that again, but he supposed Sam’s face was easy enough to read. "Awesome."

Castiel’s scowl deepened, but he turned to stare out the small window that was slowly icing over. "I cannot _believe_ Martin Septim's death was so catastrophic.” He rolled his lip between his teeth in a very human display of frustration. He looked as close to furious as Cas was capable of emoting. “We should have _known_."

Out of everything they had just learned, _that_ was what had the angel’s feathers in a knot? 

Dean nearly scoffed.

Instead, he helpfully declared, "Hindsight's a bitch, aint it?" and then rolled onto one of the beds, his mind spinning with all the information he'd just learned.

"World-Eater," Sam mumbled from his own bed, staring up at the ceiling. "That doesn't sound very good."

Castiel sighed sharply through his nose, staring out the window, and Dean tried not to picture what a dragon god might look like,

Lost in their own thoughts, none of them said anything else that night.

* * *

Ok, we had our first little lore dump in this chapter! Let me know if it doesn't make sense or there's gaps somewhere that I am missing.

[The Dragonborn Comes cover if you missed it earlier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wr-buV4tYOA)

Windhelm city gates

Candlehearth Hall exterior

Candlehearth Hall interior


End file.
